Red Sunset

[Lucius]

Red depravity reaching the apo-fuck-gee here... The effect is pretty phantasmagorical, I'd say.

That said, the author really should stay out of Russia -- the gals having been canonized, the story runs afoul of the law against insulting the religious feelings of believers.

[HistBuff]

Red depravity reaching the apo-fuck-gee here... The effect is pretty phantasmagorical, I'd say.

That said, the author really should stay out of Russia -- the gals having been canonized, the story runs afoul of the law against insulting the religious feelings of believers.

Thanks, @Lucius !

Article 148 of the Criminal Code (Insulting Religious Feelings): Introduced in 2013, this law punishes "public actions expressing clear disrespect for society and committed in order to offend the religious feelings of believers".

All I can say is I never had the intention to offend religious feelings. I stumbled on a text mentioning Mr. Gibbes and his account of the boat river where he heard the girls scream in the middle of the night. This is what gave me the whole idea of this story. It will be a very long story. I have a good idea where it ends --- of course I'm not giving away spoilers! Moral duty to my readers not to! I do have morals.

This being said, the question as to whether the Romanov daughters were sexually assaulted by their guards during captivity is a very sensitive topic, especially in Russia. As always, my story is nothing more than rape fantasy fiction.

[HistBuff]

Chapter 8: Happy Ship, Dead Captain


Anastasia's thoughts...

I feel lost and alone and vulnerable when separated from my sisters. All my thoughts are blocked since I saw a man die in front of me! The Kommissar was strangely kind to me when he gave me a warm blanket and told me to go to sleep. I loathed him so much! His smile makes him even more of a creep, but there's always some fear and reverence in his eyes whenever he looks at me, and it seems there's some vulnerability in him that he tries his best to hide. I didn't want to bring up the subject as not to make him angry. I loathed him, but loathed the Skipper's bed even more! I was terrified of going to sleep in the bed of a dead man, while said dead man still lay on the floor in this very cabin!

Everything is confusion in my thoughts, all confusion. Bad dreams that left me with a prodigious pain down there; menstrual pain, the usual, but the stress of being moved and embarked on this journey must be magnifying things. There's also this pain in my little toe and the other smaller one that I had got from striking the leg of a sideboard in Tobolsk and know it's awaken with a vengeance. Then dreams of Ivan kissing me. Other men too. What's the meaning of all this? I dunno. I just know that the Skipper is dead and for some weird reason I felt close to him... Like an uncle you feel really close to.

The Skipper had collapsed. Heart attack, the Kommissar said. One moment he was fully alive and played rummy, the next he was a corpse. The First Mate said he was fifty-nine. I liked him. He had energetic eyes that sang the grey mists of his native Holland. He had talked to me a great deal and left a profound impression of wisdom mixed with a sense of sadness and loneliness. He seemed perhaps hurried for me to know him better, as perhaps something inside him had sensed that Death was upon him.

As I was so agitated and frightened, Rodionov ordered two guards to carry the Skipper away, while he and the First Mate sipped cognac together. They told me they were keeping me here for my own safety, that the Lithuanians had become unruly and it wasn't safe anywhere else on the ship. This had me greatly agitated again as I fear for my sisters.

"Don't worry, young lady," Rodionov said, "don't worry, my sweet angel! Your sisters are old enough to fend for themselves and Captain Sidorov is watching over them, personally. All the inner guards are around them and I was just informed that some sailors and even both stewards are also guarding them. So you need not worry! Would you like some cognac? It's the finest of the finest! Vintage 1811. So if you..."

"Did you carry me here?! How did I get here?" I asked the Kommissar, who kept smiling at me with the expression of some creep. Maybe I'm still asleep and this is all a dream. Maybe I'll wake up in my father's palace in St. Petersburg. I clung to the sheets as I realized I was wearing only my nightgown and didn't want to expose myself to him, the First Mate and the pair of guards at the door, and eventually the two others came back. Being alone with six men did nothing to comfort me, but the rowdy noises that I perceived from outside tended to confirm that the ship wasn't a safe place.

"We fetched you from your cabin and carried you here, my dear. Just in time. Then there was a fight where Sidorov and the inner guard defended..."

"Sidorov! Ivan! Is he all right? Is he hurt?"

"Not that I know of," Rodionov replied, his voice and composure suddenly colder. He looked like he could explode in anger!

"What's your little name?" I asked, smiling and putting all my actress's talent to make it look genuine, making sure my smile reached my eyes. His expression instantly warmed and he smiled back, very genuinely. I wanted to appease him, perhaps befriend him. It would be safer for me. He clearly doesn't like Ivan.

"Leonid. My mother called me Leonid, God rest her soul!"

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Please, do tell me a bit about her, and yes, I'll have the glass of cognac with you. I'd like this very much. Vintage 1811 you say? Oh, it is said it was the best year since Peter the Great! It will be my first time drinking liquor. If you don't mind, I'll keep the blanket on me. It's chilly."

I sat at the table with Leonid Rodionov, who began telling me about his mother. His father had vanished and he had never known him. He was only ten when he began to work in a local factory, putting labels on bottles seventy hours a week. Every child in the family worked. His mother worked hardest of them all. She was proud! She was also very beautiful and could have made a much easier living by selling her beauty to men, or at least to painters and pose for them.

I sipped cognac, very little at a time. It warmed me up very much, and it was indeed very good. Even I, used to the finest wines, I was surprised it tasted this good. As I sipped, I listened to his story about his mother while all men present kept looking at me. Feeling their gazes on me filled me with vain pride, and loathing. I hoped Ivan would soon come and tell me everything is under control, but the wild noises from outside told me it was no good beyond that door.

Leonid then told me how a cavalry officer began courting his mother.

"She loathed him," he said "but he was from a rich noble family and wouldn't take no for an answer. She finally gave in, thinking us children wouldn't have to work anymore, but as soon as he became my father-in-law, he began beating me and my brothers, even brutalizing my sisters! He had just bought that same wine factory and nothing changed. I was still working endless hours in this soul-killing job. One of my sisters lost two fingers in an accident. She was thirteen. He sent her some place away and we never saw her again.

"I had begun to get involved in pogroms against Jewish. The violence was a form of escape from my unbearable life. I didn't even know how to read! I was trying to learn by myself, but without much success as I lacked proper guidance. My sister's disappearance proved to be the breaking point. My thoughts were bent on devising a plan to kill my evil father-in-law, but my mother beat me to it. She stabbed him in his sleep; just like that. No plan, no forethought. She didn't escape justice. She was arrested and promptly sentenced to death by hanging. I saw my mother die before my own eyes. They had arrested my elder sister too for some far-fetched reason. She took her own life not long after. Sixteen! Nadja was only sixteen! I've kept strands of her golden hair; it's my most prized possession. She is the first girl I ever kissed, I mean truly kissed. My fondest memory. Would you like some more cognac, my dear?"

I nodded and he went on with his story. I liked this cognac, very much. I was starting to understand why he hated the Empire so much, why he had joined the Red Army. I began to find it difficult to blame him. I had always seen him as a depraved monster, but now I saw he had something human in him. Human and broken. A bit like me since my own world was turned upside down.

"When my beloved Nadja drowned herself, that was the true breaking point! I vowed to have my revenge! I hated the Empire. This happened at a time when the Czar was all-powerful and feared by us Marxists and by the Anarchists, but I became an expert in sabotage and stealthy actions. Five years later I took part in the riots in 1905. I was there in the Bloody Sunday massacre on January 22. We were only protesting, unarmed, and the soldiers opened fire on us! They killed a great many of us, more than a hundred!



"I involved myself more and more in the Bolshevik movement, feeling the old regime needed to be overthrown, but as long as the military would remain loyal to the Czar, we would have to remain in hiding. I lost many good friends. I learned to read. I rose in their ranks. Then the Great War came. It weakened the Czar's military and opened the door for the big push. The famine early last year was all it took! But I think you're getting sleepy, my dear child!"

I was indeed feeling sluggish. I caught sight of that funny-looking German cuckoo clock and was shocked to learn that it can be two o'clock twice a day. My eyes were closing on their own. I vaguely remember I had been sleeping when they had first brought me in this cabin, and then I fell in the void without even knowing if I made it to the bed by myself or was carried in it. I was then in a nightmare.

The Winter Palace. Hundreds of gunshots filling the air. The hallways are dark with caustic smoke from the rifles being fired on and on by members of the 1st Russian Women's Battalion of Death making a stand against thousands of angry soldiers and proletarians assaulting us. What am I doing here?! Why am I standing amid war's dangers?! I'm royalty! I defy this reality! They keep firing. These brave soldiers are all wearing their hair long, as if they had made themselves beautiful for some special purpose. Their hair is supposed to be short just like male troops. Very strange! But not as strange as me being here.

"We're getting low in ammunition!" cries a soldier, her soprano voice on the verge of breaking down. She have tears in her eyes!

"They're breaking in! They're breaking in!!!" another shouts.

"Noooo! Nooo! Not this! Not this!"

"We're lost!"

"God take my soul!" POW!

A deep, hopeless sense of oppression darkens the palace. Darker than the caustic smoke where the hallways are filled with screams and wails. It's here. Evil. The caustic smoke takes shapes, terrifying shapes that herald my future demise. I'm going to die young! "You're going to die a horrible death. A horrible death." The voice inside me. Rattling like some reptilian being. Terrifying! Am I buried alive? "I'm alive! I'm alive!" I scream, or try to. A strong hand is oppressing my mouth. My soul. I can't move! Buried.

***

Rodionov watched Nastya as she slept while Stefan, Mikhail and the First Mate began another game of rummy. Yuri was gone on deck and only one guard was left standing watch at the door.

Rodionov sat on the bed to watch her from a closer distance. Nastya reminded him of his elder sister, not physically, but through her very essence. Nadja was a tall, slender girl with pure gold in her long hair that once flowed in the breeze on a sunny day. Rodionov gazed at the sleeping maiden, seeing all blurry as tears welled in his eyes.

"Nadja" he tenderly whispered. "Oh, Nadja my love! You were so beautiful! A gift from the gods of love! Pure opium for my soul!"

He wanted to stoop down and kiss Nastya, but something stopped him. She was not Nadja. He felt a horrible sense of loss as he thought of his long-dead sister. Nadja had been his one true love. Incestuous perhaps, but love all the same. Each time he looked at Nastya, he felt a bit farther from Nadja, because Nadja had loved him, while Nastya hated him.

Each time he violated a girl, and there had been many such times, Rodionov increased the distance between himself and Nadja, who still lived in the realm of love, while he was lost in the realm of evil. The rope between him and Nadja was already stretching thin, and the more he raped, the more he stretched this link. One day he would reach the breaking point. What then? But he loved to rape, for this was the only way he could experience again the insane sensations he had found in the arms of Nadja.

He would never forget that magic summer when she was more beautiful than ever, and he had just been spurred by nature into being curious about girls. They had been feeling something weird and special for one another for the past two years, but now it had got so strong! It happened just like that, on a Sunday. Sun in the forest, quiet ripples in a rivulet, and the wind caressing the birch leaves. A day in June in the twilight of the last century. They knew they were meant to be together. "Leonid! Oh, Leonid! I'm so happy with you!" Nadja had said when they kissed for the first time and made love.

Nadja! She was, still is a song in timeless poetry where spring is eternal. Nadja, the only girl he ever loved.

Only rape gave him sensations strong enough for him to feel a deep sense of closeness to his long-dead sister. Only for a brief moment of pure ecstasy. Then he felt he was being moved away from her, always farther away from the wonderful place where she had been sleeping inside him for two decades. But one day he'd close the circle and they'd be reunited.

All these memories stormed like a demented hurricane of spring and flowers in his twisted mind as he kept watching Nastya as she slept so peacefully.

There was no escape for him. He needed to rape. It was both his bliss and his poison. But not to-night. Tomorrow he'd have Tatiana in the train. He would keep his sap for her! And when he'd relieve himself inside Tatiana, he would fill her so much that her eyes would turn white! For some ungodly reason, he was becoming obsessed with Tatiana Romanova.

He also felt a genuine, strong affection for Nastya and he couldn't leave her in this cabin alone with those men. She was the first person he had talked about Nadja with. But then, how could he contemplate raping her sister Tania?

"No rape tonight," he thought. "Cognac will do fine. Oh, sweet beautiful Nadja! How I wish you were here!"

***

Tatiana's thoughts...

Surrounded. Outnumbered. How easy it is for them to submit us! Father was one of the world's most powerful sovereigns. And yet he's a prisoner of the Soviets. His daughters are being gang-raped by celebrating peasants and unwashed soldiers. Even coloured men are partaking. Coloured men! I can hear all they're doing to Olga in the next cabin while they keep me in Nastya's bed, where I've peed myself. They're not sparing us. Only Nastya is being spared, hopefully.

My ears are assaulted by their bad Russian, by their worse Lithuanian, the lewd tone of which I understand. Then slightly comforted by French, but it comes from negroes.

"Ah, c'est une vraie beauté! Allez mon fils, monte-la encore!" (Oh, she's a real beauty! Let's go, Son. Mount her again!"

The confusion of lewd hands move me around. Hands everywhere, never leaving me. Two hands on my loins. I feel youth in those hands. The boy! The steward!

"Oui, père! On la viole! On la viole! La salope blanche!" (Yes, Father! We're raping her! We're violating her! The white tramp!)

He's inside me. The boy. The African boy and his hard cock. It furthers my pain, moral and physical. On Nastya's bed. It intensifies the pain, multiplies it! I keep crying as the young negro mounts me; I have no tears left. Now he's kissing the back of my neck, and he takes monstrous proportions as he remains pressed upon me, like a fantastical being raping me while heralding my future death.

"Long live the Grand Duchess!" he whispers in my ear amid his hard panting. Such strength and confidence in his strokes, and yet so young to be a rapist! He's a monster. I don't believe him. I'm going to die young.

"Ahh aaah aaaaah aaah oui! Oui! La salope blanche! AAAHHRRMNNNN YYYAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHrrrrrr..." (.... ... ... Yes! Yes! The white tramp! ... ...)

He's finished. They aren't. This night's still young, says one of them. A sailor. No, an officer. Two stripes of gold down his dark sleeve. He too mounts me. He tries his best to be more brutal. His pride is at stake. He's Russian and won't allow a negro boy to be harder and more brutal inside me! Oooh, the pain! He's hammering me so heavy! But... What is he doing? He pulls out. So soon? What... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH"

Sodomized!

Each second, I'd rather be dead. I'd rather never have been born. Someone's screaming like a banshee. Olga?! Yes, Olga. Her voice a grotesque travesty. A low grunt that could serve as a fog horn. Sodomized too.

"How do you like this? Enjoying your boat trip, Your Highness?"

Whose voice is this? Oh, the pain! Are they sawing me in halves? I refuse to think this voice could be that officer whom I loathe even more than the Kommissar. Oh, it hurts! The man behind me is like a gorilla with a monstrous phallus. Sacrificed to save Nastya. Sacrificed on the altar of fate.

His relief comes with a void. I pass out.

Liquid on my face! Are they peeing on me? It smells so strong! So vile! It's vodka. Very cheap vodka. What else can we expect from such a mob of illiterate ruffians?

I'm used again. Again. Again. Faces hoovering over me, smiling down on me. One spits in my face. How dare he! Bearded, smooth shaved. Why am I seeing those cocks with their veins? Lithuanians. Sailors. Guards whose faces are painfully familiar. Younger. Older. All are so ugly for what they're doing to me. I want to die! No escape for me. Only death. Death would be so still!

But their ugly mugs keep hoovering above me. Vultures. Where's the eagle of the Romanovs? It's dead. They've butchered it and feasted on it. It was their barbecue. Red fire. Red-hot poker. There's the red pain again. Deep. Inside.

More vodka on my face.

More men inside me. The same ones going at it again.

***

On deck, Tamara has long lost count of the soldiers and sailors who broke her in. That stout bearded man renews his pleasure inside her. Once again, he takes her lying on his side while she lies on her back, in this nice position her body forces her to like. His fatherly hands hold the small of her back and her tummy, skin on skin, as he impales her young cunt and starts raping the spring of her youth, again. She's only nineteen. Part of her says it was about time she had a man inside her. Most of her is horrified. Horrified at herself for even partly accepting this. Consenting to her own rape!

"It's a surrender. I'm just surrendering..." she whispers as the stout musician keeps enjoying her, always holding her waist and driving her harder against him where her legs are bent and she rests her bare feet on his hip, her body forced to like this weird, yet uncannily comfortable position. She shivers in a small climax that grows into a big one where she screams out of blissful pain. She feels his eyes on her feet. It warms them. She's naked and yet he keeps looking at her legs and feet. Lithuanians keep touching her feet, commenting on their small dainty shape. Men are so weird! She can understand their touching her breasts, her face, her hair, her buttocks. But her feet?! And yet they really like them.

"I knew she'd be gorgeous naked!" says a Corporal.

"And she speaks our language!" replies another as he drinks vodka out of a bottle.

The stout man is grunting. His hands on her waist... his heavy strokes inside her... He's well-girthed... Her small body is so enduring! Thank God she's so young! But that's because she's young they do this to her, she silly girl! Her feet resting in this large naked musician. The night's chill makes her want to seek heat in his arms. She's being fucked, her head gently bobbing on the deck amid their comments. No more catcalls. The orgy is quieter now. Lithuanians are lying down left and right in a drunk man's slumber. Most of the ones left standing are tipsy.

There's a strong convulsion in her rapist's hands at her waist. His stout bearded face is dark with effort. Is he...

Dying? He sounds like it.

"Are you all right, Sir?" the half-crazed girl says in Lithuanian. Tamara realizes her own hands are on his hand, over her navel. He keeps caressing her there in his deep convulsions. He feels fatherly to the troubled girl. He groans, she senses his convulsions where her feet are pressed on him, while his hands around her waist keep her warm in a gentle vice. She can understand why he does this. He had always found her beautiful, had always wanted to fuck her and flood her with his sperm. All along. Why does she like him? She should hate him. She ought to!

"... Hgggghh... Yes! Yes... Aaaaah! I'm... I'm all right. S-sorry, Milady... I'm so sorry for doing this."

"I understand," Tamara replies.

Then she's used again by a broad spectrum of men. Sailors wearing Chinese tattoos on their arm and a silver ring in a pierced ear. More Lithuanians. Then this handsome Russian officer by the name of Petia, who proves especially brutal when he rapes her and keeps slapping her tits while the men hold her floating in their midst once again, making her float amid their lewd debauchery as they pass her around. Always with her father watching. And Tamara, through the veil of her suffering, can't help but feel there's something disturbingly erotic in all this. Those awful men seem to love doing this to her. She can understand. She's young and pretty. The more foul names they call her, the prettier she feels. At least her cat is safe; she remembers seeing Daisy running to some dark corner of the cabin, long ago, back when she was still a true maiden.

They make her kneel on the deck, naked as always, shivering from the endless night's chill. They surround her, a wall of men with their brutal collective stench. Smegma on their non-Jewish cocks. And yet it's a sort of pogrom. She's the lamb amid wolves, but she's no longer scared of them. Because she understands.

They tell her to be a good girl or else they'll kill her father. She knew they were going to say this. They don't need to threaten her. She's the troubled girl who surrendered to their cocks. She's kneeling amid a forest of male gazes that rape every pore of her exposed skin. In a forest of Lithuanian cocks. She understands them. The castle of her childhood has been overrun by the local peasants. She understands them. They've always wanted to do this.

She opens her mouth and takes one cock that stinks and she wants to vomit. She holds on. She's a brave girl. Tamara takes the cock and sucks it. She holds it in her hand when the soldier orders her to. He floods her mouth and orders her to swallow.

"Drink! Drink it all, bitch!" the Lithuanian hollers at her while slapping her, causing her to spit out some of his revolting slime. Then he slaps her again for losing "some of the precious elixir". And as she swallows all the rest of it and fights not to retch, with her head ringing in stars from the hard slap, another cock takes her nostrils prisoner and engulfs her in its stench. Hands grab her head and the foul thing gets pushed inside her mouth while the man compliments her on the beauty of her long dark hair.

Head shaken! She doesn't see anything around her. She no longer hears anything. Her world is a shaken head where her jaw muscles are painfully strained as the man pinches her jaw cruelly. He doesn't trust her. He fears her teeth. "But I surrendered! Please, go easy!" she wants to blurt out, but her mouth is filled with stench that violates her!

Another helping of sludge! Disgusting. But it feels a tiny bit less worse. Is she getting used to this?! She wishes she were still in the Czar's palace, dancing clumsily at a ball and getting mocked and snubbed, by noble maidens who by now must be whores in Bolshevik barracks; at least some of them. "Good for them!" Tamara thinks with a sense of revenge as the man groans and pulls out of her mouth. Only to coat her face with a blanket of sticky heat that leaves her bathing in a pungent smell of staleness that reeks of a poor man's liberation.

The next man takes her head and violates her face just as hard and brutally. Another load of sperm on her face amid laughter. Another man. A customer. She's a whore now. So are those vile maidens who used to mock her. She loves her revenge. It comes with a high price. She loves it all the same. Lithuanian sperm tastes better now. It's the taste of her own revenge.

Amid all this, she catches a look on Countess Hendrikoff and her flawless body on all fours, there, so gracefully naked with her full-grown buttocks for all to watch. Tamara feels jealous of those full buttocks; hers are so slim! With General Tatischev behind her?! The soldiers call him "the fighting general" in a most unflattering tone; they're mocking him while he rapes the Countess with loud groans that almost sound like a barking dog! "Aahrrwff! Ahrwff aarrhwf... Aahhrrwwf aahrrwf ahrrwff..." The General's silver moustache is as wide as ever, straight and hard in arousal on his straining face where his eyes are bursting with a sordid brand of joy. Evil! The Countess looks behind and gazes at him with a mix of anger, distress and contempt, but he ignores her and just keeps his hold on her hips and slams her, on and on and on, groaning like a barking dog while the mocking Lithuanians keep calling him "the fighting general" while pouring vodka on his bald head!

"Tamara," says an old Lithuanian, "Oh, beautiful Tamara, take me in your mouth and old Jonas will be very gentle!"

As he speaks, Jonas puts a fatherly hand on her head, and indeed he pushes himself gently inside her mouth. And she rewards him with long tongue strokes that he likes; she feels his sensual approval through his fatherly hand where it rests upon her semen-polluted head. And there she is, kneeling amid the pack of Lithuanians and sailors, naked and sucking the cock of an old man, amid this hole of stench, semen and vodka, and doing her best to pleasure him in exchange for him being gentle with her.

Glimmers of gray loom in the eastern sky. Through the press of men, Tamara gets another glimpse of Countess Hendrikoff. The Countess is kneeling in the same predicament as her. Tamara and the Countess seem to be the only women left on deck, as there are no further signs of the serving maids. The Countess looks sad and angry where she kneels amid the men who take their turns in violating her face.

"She doesn't understand!" Tamara thinks while pleasuring Jonas and his fatherly cock. "Can't she see that what these men want with her is just natural?" Tamara feels there's something beautiful and erotic in this troubling scene where the nude Countess is kneeling amid the press of soldiers and crewmen, each of whose cocks demands its due.

Jonas yells, "For the Revolushnnn NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHH!!!"

He has pulled outside her mouth and now adorns Tamara's cleavage and most of her left breast with a deluge of heat from an old man who sounds very, very happy as he spews this big load and leaves her breasts smelling like stale semen.

More men come. So many of them! More cocks! More semen. She's alone. She doesn't have enough mouths! They don't wait! As she does whatever she can with her lone mouth and her lone pair of hands, holding and massaging two cocks at a time while she sucks, the noble Tamara Palhen gets caught amid a full-blown deluge of sperm where men masturbate with a frantic hand until they spew their memorabilia on her face, on her head, on her breasts, her back, down on her butt... Her own father's there! He's sorry, he says as he masturbates. But it's all right. She understands. All's clear now. She's at peace with her fate. No longer troubled.

A black man materializes in their midst. Her father screams with rage, then gets silenced with a punch. Someone says the Skipper's dead. Her world crumbles down in oblivion as the negro shoves his cock inside her mouth, and this last man in the mob proves he's not the least. He's huge and damaging. He rapes her face without mercy, each stroke speaking volumes about the fate that would await a white girl in a town overrun by an army of African warriors.

Tamara is greatly troubled by this clash of civilizations. Fate is smiling down on her like the Devil. She did not expect THIS. The big brown cock overruns her face, unimpeachable. She had been tricked where she thought she had sunken so low she couldn't sink any lower. Fate proved her wrong. As if this wasn't cruel enough, the brown bastard is speaking French! The very language she was so often mocked and mortified for not knowing it! He speaks it like a Frenchman... Europe's most learned and civilized language out of his big African mouth! While she keeps tasting his erection that fills her mouth to capacity!

"The Skipper's dead?!"

"What?!"

"Yes. As dead as a door-nail."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHRRR YEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!" the negro utters, his terrible grip all around her head as he yells something joyfully savage in French while flooding her mouth and keeping her mouth shut so she's forced to drink his hot cream. And he has a lot! Her head explodes in a throbbing confusion where stars and nausea dance together amid a strong sea of exotic musk.

Tamara is left naked on deck, in fetal position as the coming morning paints the eastern sky in a delicate gray that now turns off-white with nascent gold. White Venus is there as Lucifer to herald the new day. Someone puts a blanket on her. She doesn't care. She can't fathom what just happened. She can't accept the disturbing truth. She's just been raped by a negro in front of Father. How frustrating! Just as she thought she was handling her ordeal, then life threw a big fat turd in her face!

A pail of water gets put down near her.

Men gently take her and make her stand as they remove the blanket, uncovering her nakedness. She's frightened. Frightened and exhausted. They begin rubbing her with water. Washing her? So it seems. No more hostility in them. They all smile and grin as they wash her, calling her "pretty Miss" and "Milady" insisting on her butt and her breasts that remain pushed out of her chest in their usual modest size, there for all hands to rub with water. One man kisses one breast and gets rebuked. This is no longer the time for this! He must wait until she's on the train after Tyumen. She understands; understands with terror that she's to be gang-raped again next night. Negroes among them. This is what terrifies her because this is the one thing she can't understand. This is too unthinkable. She didn't count on this.

They wash her. Amid those low-status men who seem to worship her body by rubbing her everywhere with their wet hands and rags, Tamara feels bizarrely promoted. She is the mere daughter of some foreign Baron, but they're treating her like royalty. She feels like a Byzantine princess being bathed by an army of eunuchs. All those men look tired in their dirty uniforms that reek of vodka and piss.

Then the sun breaks the Siberian horizon and bathes Tamara in a golden light amid fantastic shadows. Eternity now lives in her.

Sidorov is there. He loves the little pearls of water on her breasts. That tiny drop of water on the tip of her nipple is a small world that summarizes an impossible night that he will never forget. Neither will she.

[Blue]

@HistBuff
In this way, the rapes almost sound poetic.

[Lucius]

That's... one infernal boat trip.

[HistBuff]

Chapter 9: The Cobblestones of Tyumen

Any Lithuanian who had been asleep on deck was awaken, by the rising sun, or more often by their peers tapping on his shoulder and silently telling him he had to get going for his day of sentry duty. There also remained one final pleasure to be taken from the young ladies. Washing them!

By now, too many soldiers and sailors were pressing themselves around Tamara and Countess Hendrikoff. So the others took the Doctor, Tamara's father and General Tatischev and they escorted them downstairs in their respective cabins aft of the steamer. Down there hid the Doctor's wife and the young serving maids, each of whom had managed to get away from the rapes and humiliations at some point during the night and thus had fled back in their unlock-able cabins, when many Lithuanians had drunk themselves to slumber.

Again, screams resonated through the hallway. One man, the French tutor, tried to interfere and was told by two stiff punches in his midsection, from a strong Lithuanian, that he was ill-advised to try to stop the unstoppable.

The girls and the blonde wife were all brought back upstairs on deck, where the morning sun caressed their exhausted faces with golden light as the grinning Lithuanians and sailors promptly stripped them out of whatever dresses they had hastily put on. The girls begged them to please spare their clothes! Since they were in a happy mood, the men allowed them to strip themselves if they didn't want to have their last remaining clothes destroyed, although the Doctor's wife did have several spare dresses.

And this is why she was restrained while Linus and Jonas ripped and shredded all her garments off her. She offered a busty bosom with strong nipples that had breast-fed five infants since her wedding. She was still young, still beautiful with legs the men found naturally pleasing to rub, and her bottom was even more fun to rub and look at as they washed her, with a myriad of water pearls catching the sun. A visual feast for the exhausted rapists who nonetheless grinned under the morning sky.

Captain Sidorov was there. He had finally found Dimitri. Near Tamara. Washing her. The deflowered maiden with her long raven hair offered a dramatic nakedness as the lines of her legs and her gentle breasts were being kissed by the sun, with galaxies of water pearls. Sidorov could readily imagine how the Lithuanians must have raped her all night long. Her face now was stoic and her delicate eyebrows showed she had surrendered to their lust hours ago. Her small feet on deck, amid all these grinning men who kept washing her ass, offered a delightful contrast that had the 46-year-old officer feeling a sensual torpor in front of Tamara, whose age he accurately appraised at around eighteen. He took a mental note for later on the train, where he'd try her out himself, for he could already imagine enjoying her bent over, or perhaps force her to give him her mouth.

"She must be a well-trained little tramp by now!" Sidorov said aloud, smiling and seizing this opportunity to further his leadership over the unkempt platoon. The rough, illiterate Lithuanians laughed and nodded once someone had translated the Komroty's words.

"Buckaroo!" a few of them shouted as a show of appreciation for their Komroty. Someone offered him the last of a vodka bottle, and Sidorov drank it in one final swig.

The serving maids attracted more men due to their younger age and their virginal lines and contours, which were the only vestiges of their virtue. They were slimmer and firmer all over. The exhausted rapists felt a queer form of elation from being able to touch them as much as they wanted as they washed them. The men were shocked by their own behaviour. In the past, they had raped without a shred of dignity. Now there was something on this ship that made them more gentle in their ways. Private Merkus wondered about it as he was rubbing the breasts of the blonde maid, the one whose sunny braids had survived many rapes. Petia Malinowski his platoon leader offered an explanation.

"The way we raped those girls; it feels almost poetic! Why were we so gentle?" Merkus wondered.

"It has to be the Grand Duchesses. Their presence on the Russ makes us different," Petia replied.

"Yes, that must be it, Sir. This or the fact a man died last night. At any rate, this is a magnificent sunrise!"

***

Sidorov's thoughts...

I don't have the heart in myself to go see Nastya. I know she was kept the whole night in the Skipper's cabin under the protection of Rodionov, whatever this protection be worth. I didn't go in that cabin, not even once during the night. I was too afraid to find out what I feared the most, in which case I would have killed Rodionov and also shot each and every man on the spot. The result would have been me getting arrested then shot, and my wife Sumeyye getting arrested and gang-violated. I have a very hard time believing that Nastya remained unscathed. Not on this ship, not with all those satyrs on it. I'm tired, so tired! I had no sleep. None of us did.

Tamara is so beautiful! I loved to see this small girl as the Lithuanians washed her while the sun bathed the entire ship with golden light. Her hair looked so black! Like Sumeyye, the rosy-cheek version of her! The long hair resting on her shoulders, on her back silently spoke of the new day with all these strands lit up by sunlight; the coal-black triangle between her legs spoke of that night when she lost her innocence many times over. She kept mumbling things in Lithuanian. One of the men, the accordionist with his stout beard, came and told me she kept repeating, "A negro, why a negro? ... why? I had begun to understand, now this. Why?"

I thank the man, who was clearly concerned about the poor girl's sanity. He seemed to genuinely like her. Why wouldn't he? I want to see this Tamara. She obviously was exhausted as the Lithuanians kept rubbing her nakedness with water, washing her skin, while nothing could ever wash her shame.

"You seem very troubled, Tamara," I said. She didn't answer. She just kept mumbling the same words in the soldiers' language.

"Negras... Kodėl?"

"You were raped by a negro, right?"

She didn't say anything. Only looked at me. So much rage and anger in her face! I understood.

"Would it satisfy you, Milady, if the one who did this paid for it?"

Tamara looked at me with white fire in her dark eyes. She ignored the men rubbing her, something that would have greatly mortified her a day earlier. She even looked at the Countess and the maids, who all kept feebly protesting under the rubbing hands; her dark eyes were ablaze with contempt!

"I want him skinned alive! Emasculated in front of me! Do this and I'm yours for the whole night."

"Komroty, we need to organize the watches."

This was Dimitri. His presence irritated me, then I spoke.

"Dimitri, how many negroes on this ship?"

"Uh, what? Two I think, yes two. The stewards, but why?"

"Take Boris and two other men and go arrest them both. Both! Then bring them here!"

Tamara was smiling with dark pleasure in her eyes. She stood there, oblivious of the fact she was naked amid all those myrmidons who kept rubbing her and devouring her small-girl beauty with eyes and hands. She was the toughest girl I had ever seen!

***

Down in her cabin, Olga was still naked and amid the worst humiliations of her life. The pack of her tormentors, tattooed sailors and guards, had kept her kneeling amid them and forced to pleasure them all with her mouth, the threat on her baby sister had kept her an obedient slave. One by one, she had sucked the cocks of these unwashed brigands. Peasants all of them! With musk-loaded cocks alien to soap.

Tatiana was being bucked from behind by the indefatigable steward boy while his father was gone on deck. The other young guards also took their turn in making sure Tania would be sore down there for weeks to come. And branded for life as a shamed and fallen member of Imperial royalty.

When Dimitri came down, Boris was busy slapping his exhausted cock on Tatiana's face while the negro boy laughed and masturbated along with several other men. There was still some lingering rage on her face as she got soft-hit by Boris's soggy cock.

"Boris, arrest this boy!"

"Wh-what?!"

"You heard me. Arrest this negro boy. Take Oleg and Sergei. We need to find the other one. You, boy, where's your fellow negro? Speak! No, leave your clothes alone, you're coming as you are!" 

It was a flabbergasted Boris who executed Sidorov's order. The Son was naked and trembling in fear. The Father was soon found among the pack of men who were rubbing the Countess and all her naked charms that had been violated ad nauseam the previous night.

Soon, both negroes stood before Captain Sidorov, who turned to Tamara. 

"Which one raped you?" the Komroty asked. His uniform looked so neat that no one would suspect he had taken his pleasure and partaken to an orgy the whole night through. He also looked sober.

"It's this one! He raped me!" Tamara bellowed, pointing at the Father, whose eyes grew in terror as he saw the expression in every white man present on the deck. He was being made a scapegoat! He should have known better! Should have gone and hide and stay out of sight, he and his son. Now it was too late.

"What's this about?" the First Mate asked loud and clear, his face showing signs of great fatigue and a bit too much liquor. The third mate swiftly told him. Rodionov presently went out of the dead Skipper's cabin. Nastya was seen at the door, but never ventured on deck, where she would have been the one girl fully clothed. Sidorov saw her and his heart turned to water. Nastya remained behind and looked down, then retreated into the shadow. Sidorov feared the worst.

He entered in a rage! He felt like pulling out his revolver and shooting Rodionov through the head! Right here and there, in front of everyone! There were forty-five Lithuanians, a dozen sailors and a handful of guards and officers on deck, along with seven women who had been abused the whole night. He concentrated his rage on the negroes. A confusion of emotions assaulted his senses. There was the prospect of a night with Tamara, who reminded him a bit of Sumeyye at a younger age. Most of all, there was his rage of having most likely failed to protect Nastya. Someone had to pay!

"Negro, you raped her!" Sidorov said, pointing at Tamara.

The older steward, wearing only trousers, his torso bare, said nothing. He knew nothing he'd say would save him. It was too late for him. He could only save his son, by remaining silent.

"But Father! All those men..."

"Tais-toi, Jean-Dire. Pour l'amour de Dieu, tais-toi!" (Be silent, Jean-Dire. For the love of God, be silent!)

The obedient son went silent, his expression showing great fear and concern.

Hearing spoken French further enraged Tamara. "I want him emasculated! Right here! Right now!" she hollered, looking intensely at Sidorov. The naked girl looked strong, her breasts giving her more majesty in her moment of sun-bathed wrath. The raped girl had morphed into a vengeful Amazon. "Emasculated, then shot! Shot for what he did!"

All men around her, especially the Lithuanians, nodded in agreement. Most of the rapists felt guilty about the orgy of dark evil pleasures they had indulged in. They all found relief in the accusation of a scapegoat. They would all feel better after someone would have paid for their own sins. The Father understood this and knew he was lost. Only the Son could be saved. The collective spirit in these white men was too strongly set against him.

The First Mate didn't say anything. Rodionov remained silent under his black peak-cap, even looking away from the scene. Stefan and Yuri stood nearby, both grinning with an evil smile. Sidorov was free to do as he pleased. He needed to vent his anger and his sense of failure toward Anastasia.

Sidorov pulled out his revolver and aimed it at the Son.

"Noo! Kill me! But please, spare my son!" the older negro begged.

"Boris, take your knife and emasculate this boy! Oleg, Sergei, hold the Father and let him watch!"

While the terrified boy was easily held by Boris who pulled a sharp hunting knife, the Father entered a fit of desperate rage. He made small work of Oleg and Sergei, hammering them down with terrible blows from his hands, but Dimitri pulled his own Nagant on him and the huge Polish cook presently grabbed and restrained the Father, telling him he never liked him and laughed as Boris swiftly began cutting the boy's genitals.

The naked boy's visceral scream echoed throughout the silent ship. He was soon made an eunuch, a pool of blood forming between his feet, in front of his father, whose eyes were worlds of suffering as he no longer could speak. Then, Sidorov ordered the cook to push the older negro in front of him.

The Father staggered on deck, where nobody stood behind him; just the railings and the river. Sidorov shot him twice. In the groin, then through the head.

"Dump this sack of dung into the river and take this eunuch to the Doctor," Sidorov commanded as he put his smoking Nagant back into its holster.

"He died too quickly! I wanted him to suffer!" Tamara protested.

"He was emasculated, then shot, like you said," Sidorov replied.

"No, this is not what I wanted, I... OWW!!!"

Sidorov had walked on Tamara and slapped her. None of the Lithuanians dare oppose Captain "Buckaroo" Sidorov, who took Tamara by the hand and dragged her all across the deck and past Rodionov.

He took Tamara to the Skipper's cabin, where he found himself alone with her, except for one guard who had fallen asleep and now snored on the floor. Ignoring the naked girl's protests, he pushed her to the Skipper's table, bent her over; and soon, his trousers were down and he penetrated her as she screamed in pain.

"If you don't understand what happened on deck, then you will understand THIS! Arrhhhh! Aaarrrh! Rrhh rrrh rrrh rrrh rrrhhh rrrh rrrrrhhh..."

Tamara squealed, her unprepared vagina killing her! She was so sore down there! But Sidorov kept her chest flat on the table and there was nothing she could do under his weight as he raped her while pressed upon her. He hammered her deeper and deeper until he was raping her to the hilt and licking the back of her neck in the black disheveled chaos of her hair as he pounded her so viciously that the massive table was sliding under his constant pushes inside the squealing girl, whose eyes were bathed in tears as she remained there, her right cheek flattened against the table and sliding back and forth while the man lost his peak-cap and ravaged her in all-out frenzy until he filled the cabin with a loud detonating yell! Sidorov nearly died as he ragingly erupted inside her!

"Now girl! Behave and stop whining!" Sidorov said to the hurt girl who wouldn't stop wailing.

He then went downstairs and found ten of his men in the act of washing Olga and Tatiana. Olga in a pitiful state of terror, Tania angry and full of contempt for the men rubbing her.

"Good news for you, sisters! You get a rest!" Sidorov exclaimed, and he left the oldest guard as sentry for both grand duchesses, knowing full well that this man was too spent to do anything other than stand there as ordered. Then the nine other men were ordered up to the Skipper's cabin, where they'd find "a troublemaker who needed a lesson in humility".

Tamara was thus raped by six or seven of these young fellows while the Skipper was given the sailor's funeral he had required in his last will.

The Skipper's body had been put in a bag of tarpaulin with some cast iron weights attached around his ankles. It was a short ceremony attended by the ship's crew, the Lithuanians, Dimitri acting as drill Sergeant and the Countess in the nude. With more naked girls including the Doctor's wife. As requested in his last will, the Skipper was committed to the river's waters. Ten Lithuanians fired an honour salvo with their rifles, causing as many ducks to take flight, and a white swan along with them.

As the ten rifle shots echoed far and away against the army of spruces guarding the winding river, silence returned on deck, where all men looked at the Countess whose bare tits and brown-haired cunt were now a most natural sight. The silence was only broken by Tamara's whimpers heard from the dead Skipper's cabin as she was being disciplined by guards.

The Russ weighed anchor. The men, dog-tired, all took turns in sleeping while a minimal watch was kept. All the girls who had served were allowed to return to their cabins where they were comforted by their fellow women as the Doctor made his rounds and did whatever he could. Nearly all the girls were soon asleep, including the Countess, who soon dreamed she was thrown into the Nile river where Lithuanian-speaking crocodiles kept biting her between the legs and devoured her breasts. General Tatischev, Tamara's father and even the Doctor were shunned since they had "partaken". Tamara only found solace with her cat. She spent the rest of the forenoon stroking Daisy on her lap while her father slept in the same cabin. She was too troubled to sleep and didn't know whether she should break down in tears or remain there in silent stupor. She felt lucky to have made it alive.

Sidorov distracted himself by shooting clay pigeons thrown by Dimitri. Sidorov was comforted by the familiar smell of gunpowder along with the sound of his firing Nagant. He would later thoroughly clean it. Dimitri felt overexcited by the thought of Tamara as he kept reliving his time inside her, while Sidorov longed for Nastya's innocent kisses.

In the dead Skipper's cabin, Rodionov cried himself to sleep, thinking of Nadja his dead sister.

Most of the shamed and sore girls didn't come up for breakfast, which wasn't served, and not even for lunch later on. The other women didn't come up either, out of solidarity, although they were famished by this time. Olga and Tatiana were the exception. They did it for two reasons. Out of defiance and pushed by their regal instinct, in order to show strength in public. And because it had been longest since they had not seen Anastasia and the Tsarevitch. Olga even posed for a picture taken by the Second Mate along with her little brother while waiting for lunch to be served.



***

Nastya looked down in shame when she met her sisters. No word was spoken. All was understood. Olga's heart turned to water! Tatiana was at her side and whispered something, reminding her elder sister to stay strong in front of those brigands. The Polish cook was in the most jovial mood as he prepared lunch. Anyone in the galley overheard his whistling. Rodionov and several guards were there along with the first and second mates, keeping a guilt-filled distance from the grand duchesses.

As he ate a soup with bread, Sidorov avoided Nastya's gaze. It wasn't hard to do as she ate little, keeping her head cast down while her sisters ate with an air of sulky defiance.

All the sleeping men would soon be waken up. The ship was approaching Tyumen; so all guards got up and ate, then went on to their official duty; to guard the grand duchesses, and also to guard against any attempt by a girl to throw herself in the Irtysh river. This while quietly smiling as they thought about their unofficial, off-the-records so-called duty to "entertain" the ladies at night. What a rush it had been! Many of them still had that lingering blissful sensation in their legs as they stood watch.

When they led Tatiana and Olga for a short stroll on the cleaned-up deck, the inner guards all knew what treasures lay hidden under their travel dresses while Olga's and Tania's wide-brimmed hats cast shadows over the sorrow written all over their regal features. Both grand duchesses also knew what manly power lay quiet under their khaki uniforms, for they had tasted and felt it.

***

At twenty past two, the Russ was in sight of Tyumen. The sky was now overcast with a definite threat of rain.

As the steamer made its final approach to the wharf under the command of her acting captain, all hands and everyone was called or escorted to the deck. The local Kommissar, a tall man with a definite air of self-importance, was waiting. With a contingent of no less than three hundred soldiers from the garrison.

Once the ship was moored, Rodionov came down the gangplank and saluted his equal in rank.

"Nice of you to welcome us in such style, Komrade, but why so many men?" Rodionov said as he cast a worried look at those three hundred troops.

"Kommissar Rodionov, I must ask you to leave citizens Olga, Tatiana and Anastasia Romanova here in our custody along with their entourage. White forces are approaching and it's not safe for them to be allowed to continue."

"On whose authority? Do you have any orders? I have mine, from Moscow, and I'm taking them to Yekaterinburg."

"I don't need any orders. Local chekas have leeway to act independently in the presence of danger."

"Not when the former Czar and his family are the matter!"

"Whites are approaching!"

"Nonsense! The closest reported enemy force is at least 200 verstes away from here!"

"Whites are approaching I say!"

"I know what you're trying to do, but you and your men will be shot if you don't let us pass!"

There were rumors among the ranks of the local troops and a large crowd of people was quickly gathering. The local soldiers were looking at the prettier girls who stood on the ship's deck; and they didn't like what they saw. No girls, but only shadows of what used to be rosy-cheeked girls. Their officers had persuaded them they would get to rape fresh girls, but now they were predictably disappointed. No way they would risk their skin for girls who were all used up!

The Major in command was a vain man, a case of delusional self-importance even worse than his Kommissar. He saw what was happening and felt cheated by life, for he strongly desired Tatiana Romanova and had hoped for the privilege of being first inside her, and he would enjoy her even in a used-up state. She was royalty! He gave angry orders to his junior officers, who meekly relayed them, but it only made matters worse.

"Let this fool mutiny by himself!" said a highly respected Sergeant in a regional variant of Russian.

Rodionov noticed the change and gave a smug smile to his honoured colleague. "I think, my friend, that the wind has turned. No hard feelings. I'll have someone fetch a bottle of the finest cognac you'll ever drink. You may keep the bottle. I must be on my way, Komrade. I have my orders!"

Major Zelenski was Ukrainian and had been stationed near Georgia back in 1900 when he was a Private fresh out of training. When he saw Captain Sidorov, he instantly recognized the elite shooter who had competed in Paris that year. Zelenski fancied himself as being Russia's fastest and deadliest hand with a sidearm. In his state of anger, he didn't notice how low Sidorov was carrying his holster, right where his hand would fall on his revolver's handle. He didn't notice his gun-sight eyes either. Any skilled shooter with an ounce of brain would have passed his turn upon seeing Sidorov. Not Major Zelenski.

Major Zelenski went straight ahead and met Sidorov as he came down the gangplank ahead of his guards leading the grand duchesses along with the Tsarevitch and Nagorny, followed by the rest of the retinue, where the pretty girls were being helped to walk. Just as Nastya, always pretty in her deep-blue travel dress, was being helped by Tatiana while Olga was limping.

"Ivan Sidorov, the man who finished fourth in Paris!" the Major said. "Must have been tough to miss a medal by just one place!"

Dimitri looked at Zelenski with an expression that said only one thing. "Step aside, fool!"

Sidorov only nodded and gave the superior officer a brief salute, which the Major did not return. He raised his shoulders and had started to walk again when Zelenski spoke again, "Are you still practicing? Because I am!" the smug officer said.

Definitely not in a good mood to begin with, Sidorov looked at the annoying man with nothing but cold, silent anger. He noticed he was carrying an American revolver, a .45 Colt, very powerful, but heavy and consequently a bit slower to draw. And he was carrying it way to high, at his waist. He'd never get that gun out in time if he was in a showdown. Any real gun-fighter would easily shoot him. Knowing what would happen if he ignored the Major, Sidorov tried to move past him and Zelenski put a stopping hand upon his shoulder.

"You and I, we could have fun together and find out what fast really is."

"Not to-day! I'm not in the mood to play silly games and I already know what fast is. Now move away!"

"Are you backing down? Because I... Oww!"

Sidorov had slapped the Major. The respected Sergeant from the local garrison smiled while the junior officers looked petrified.

"Why don't you go home before I blow up that big head of yours?" Sidorov said, his eyes positively morphed into gun-sights, but his hands began to tremble, as he realized he was about to face a man one-on-one in a gunfight for the first time in his life. This target would be able to shoot back and this would be nothing like fighting in an industrial-scale war where nameless fellows gunned down other men who had numbers for names.

"I'm going to kill you, Sidorov. You're as good as dead!"

Organically, room was made for both officers, who took distance between each other along the wharf while everybody in the vicinity cleared the fire path behind each man.

Once the Major in his dark uniform stood about fifteen paces away, Sidorov faced him and spoke... "So you like to read American novels! Well, make your pl..."

POw!!!

One shot had been fired.

It echoed under the lead-grey heavens as the silence grew heavy, under granite-heavy clouds as a swarm of gulls took their frightened flight.

Zelenski stood tall, wearing his smug smile. His hand holding his .45 Colt where he did not clear leather in time; his eyes round with shock. He had thought he could surprise Sidorov, whose silvery Nagant was somehow pointed right at him, with its barrel smoking.

"I... I think I'm beat--ten..." the Major said. He then collapsed.

The Romanovs' Doctor ran to him and knelt by his side. After checking Zelenski's pulse and eyes, he rose and shook his head. A young woman in distress came running out of the crowd and threw herself on the dead officer, in tears. Her wailing broke the silence...

"Grigory! Grigory! Why? Why did you have to do this!" the wife cried, sobbing, her head resting on his still chest, her light-brown hair loose as she had lost her hat. The Doctor did his best to comfort her while his eyes naturally noticed the pleasing shapes of her hips and her ass curves through her respectable dress. The wife kept wailing.

"What have I done?" Sidorov asked himself in his thoughts as he walked away, fearing the young widow's gaze. "I should have stopped this!" he said to Dimitri once near his men.

Boris patted him on the shoulder.

"No pat on the back! I just murdered a man in cold blood! This man had a loving wife and a family. Now there's a widow. I should have stopped this!"

"What's done is done, Komroty. We need to get going. If I may, I'll walk the men..." Dimitri said.

"No, I'll walk them. It will do me good!"

The junior officers walked to their deceased commander while the soldiers left for their barracks. An angry Captain yelled at them. "Who ordered you to leave? Stay!" But the men left anyway, very peacefully in something akin to a silent mutiny. The soldiers cast one last look at Tatiana, Tamara and the other young women, all of whom were in a pitiful state.

"Very disappointing!" said a local soldier as all were marching.

"Disappointing, but predictable. What did they expect? Of course they raped the girls during the night! We would have done the same."

"I think we should do a pogrom in the Jewish neighbourhood downtown."

"Sounds great! Jewish girls are tight and pretty. They won't expect it, 'cause it's been a long while since the last pogrom here, at least five years. Pogroms are a good cure against boredom!"

"I'm all for more Jewish in town. Raping their daughters is so much fun!"

A few drops of rain fell on the flagged stones as the local Kommissar took a glass from Rodionov's cognac and kept the bottle as a thank-you gift. The troops had left and the dead Major was being carried away on a stretcher by four Lieutenants. Followed by the widow, who was being helped to walk by the Captain who had barked at the leaving soldiers.

Tyumen was growing fast. It had surpassed Tobolsk by 1900. The booming town was a major hub with a station along the Trans-Siberian Railway. Early in the Civil War in 1917, forces loyal to Admiral Alexander Kolchak and his Siberian White Army controlled Tyumen, but Soviet insurrectionists had taken control on January 5, 1918. There were still many people loyal to the Czarist cause in Tyumen, and this translated into an increasing tension between the crowd and the platoon of sixty men who were escorting the grand duchesses. And growing tensions within the local crowd.

Some people were throwing flower petals on the cobblestones in the way to downtown where Sidorov began to march the platoon of outer and inner guards with the Kommissar walking right beside him while each girl who had been gang-molested during the night was being helped to walk or carried by unscathed members of the retinue. General Tatischev was speaking to the crowd and trying to excite Czarist people.

"Shut him up!" Sidorov barked. "Shut this old bugger up! Kill him if he won't shut his big potato masher!"

Tatischev was soon silenced thanks to a well-aimed rifle-butt from Merkus. Sidorov smiled as the small force began to make their way through the crowd, but a few people picked up stones and threatened to start throwing them at the Red soldiers.

"If anyone throws a stone, SHOOT TO KILL!" Sidorov ordered, praying to God nobody in the crowd would dare throw a stone. He knew the Lithuanians worshiped him and would obey without question and he was sure of his own men of the inner guard. He had only sixty men against a crowd of a thousand that was quickly turning into a hostile mob. But his soldiers had rifles that would find easy marks in this dense crowd. But there were women and children among them!

Fights broke out here and there among the press of people while Sidorov made some headway with his platoon and the retinue of civilians in their midst. The rain nearly subsided entirely. People were throwing petal flowers to honour the flagstones whereon the grand duchesses would soon walk. Others shouted threats of violence against the Romanovs. Others saluted the Red soldiers and began to hit anyone who looked or sounded Czarist, while pro-White people fought back.

The platoon kept advancing with a steady step while the rain intensified. Sidorov saw a brawl amid the crowd, not far from where he was. Two men were being pummeled down to the ground by twice as many while others were grabbing their women, who began to scream as sounds of ripping fabric reached Sidorov's ears and he saw the sudden flash of white skin and the nice tiny brown dots—her nipples and a pleasing play of breasts that got wet from the rain—as the woman was made topless and assaulted.

"Naaoooooo! Nooooaa aaaa aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" she cried, her hair loose as one old man in vile clothes began to kiss one of her breasts. The other woman was already on the ground and a man got on top of her while no less than eight men made a circle around their friends, creating enough space to allow the rape to occur.

Worried that the scene would meet Nastya's eyes and ears, Sidorov looked back and found Nastya was unconscious and was being carried like a feather by Boris. The poor girl was exhausted.

More and more, the mob lost interest in the soldiers escorting the grand duchesses as a rich merchant and his family realized he was being encircled and his four bodyguards were being beaten down with sticks, fists and kicks. The Lithuanians didn't see anything of the merchant's daughters, but Lord did they hear them!

This merchant happened to be with his wife and their twin daughters. Both damsels a barely of age for marriage. Little damsels with fancy dresses and perfumes who were well known in town for their snobbery and the contempt in their eyes whenever they saw commoners. 

When a pack of angry proletarians grabbed them, both daughters screamed as shrill and loud as if each had a king cobra biting their virginity, which both realized they were about to lose.

"Why? Why?" the merchant cried just before he got pummeled down to a bloody-faced, nose-broken heap on the cobblestones while the shrieks from his daughters tore the down-pouring rain as the commoners took their revenge!

"Now, little snob tramp! Now!" 

"Give us our bread and games!" shouted a strong iron-smith as he tore a twin's dress top and made short work of her corset!

The men's angry hands devoured their dresses in a frenzy of ripping sounds. "Please, stop! We're... we're too pretty... uh, too good for you... uh, please! Nooo! Daddy! Daddy, do something! Naaah aaaaaah aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh I don't ww.. want this,naaaah please!"

"Nooo noo, leave them alone! My beautiful honey angels!"

The wife was roughed up and groped, but the men only had eyes for the delightfully pristine daughters, who soon both lay naked amid the pack of grinning proletarians, whose eyes took unfathomable delight in the free possession of their slender nakedness. From their dainty feet to their wet raven hair under the rain, both had lovely lines and taut curves that proved a sufficient cause for as many erections as there were men standing over them!

"Today we're getting even, tramps! Tramps both of you!"

Sidorov, his revolver out and ready to fire, made further headway as the rain further increased. He and his men found enough discipline to resist the urge of staying and watching the gang-rape. Both girls were shrieking so poignantly that it was clear they were being violated under the rain. The proletarians were now able to do anything they had secretly fancied with those girls, be it forcing them to taste a commoner's cock, shooting loads on their breasts, licking their ass, this on top of the main attraction they offered in their tight pussy and their even tighter ass-hole. Sidorov didn't need to watch to see the rape in progress.

Amid the surreal press, a man screamed like a sick banshee as he emptied his stores of jism inside one of the naked damsels while the torn remains of her fancy purple dress were being trampled by a dozen men eagerly waiting their turn and ignoring the rain as they proudly presented their manhood to this little lady whose body they all adored, as proven by their rigid state. Each girl was hearing her sister's cries and whimpers as she was herself violated. Again. Again. And then some more by men who never managed more than a minute before the blissful explosion; such was their high excitement and elation! The mother and father were forced to copulate together in public, as they heard their precious daughters being publicly raped. And roughly so, by gross men who kept grinning and grunting as they took their turns.

The mob was scattered. A squadron of cavalry had been called in reinforcement. The mob scattered, but both twin daughters and other girls were kept screaming and whimpering on the wet cobblestones, whose wet coldness they felt in sensual details under their bare feet as the cavalrymen kindly dismounted and seized their opportunity to "give a nice rough dance to the sweet young ladies", whose virginity was now being described by the troops as a heavy load they were happy to help the peachy damsels get rid of.

***

Some twenty minutes later, the Lithuanians and the rest reached the railway station without firing a single shot. Sidorov immediately established a perimeter and no one would be allowed to exit or enter the station until the grand duchesses would be on board the train and on their way to Yekaterinburg. 

A self-important businessman wearing a stovepipe hat and a well-trimmed beard, dapper as such a snob ought to be, began to protest. He had an appointment! Boris gave him a better appointment with the flagstones as he punched him square in the face.

"Hey, this man has a lovely daughter!" Stefan said. "Maybe we could let him leave, in exchange for, you know what I mean!"

"Yeah, nice boobs this one got!" said Yuri as he groped the tallest daughter, who was dressed like a fashionable young lady.

"aaaaaaaaaa!!! Father! Father!" the maiden cried out, dropping her umbrella and losing her hat and unwillingly showing her rich brown hair as she tried to fight the squat man off her.

"Leave her alone!" the dapper father said, still holding his bleeding nose and trying to get back up, but Boris gave him a vicious kick right where he knew his liver was. The father sank into a fetal position, silenced by pain.

"Let's get her behind those wagons, quick!" Stefan said while Yuri pressed his hand on the girl's mouth. But the younger sister shrieked at the top of her voice when the child understood her big sister was in danger and these men weren't just playing.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"What the deuce is going on here?" Sidorov thundered as he came near.

He spotted the girl with Yuri silencing her and Stefan groping her. "You fools! You have one job to do, one! So get going and secure the station! We ain't here to play Valentines! Get going I say, on the double!"

Sidorov then helped the father to get up and apologized. The dapper man comforted his shaken daughter who had flung herself into his arms and while doing so, he introduced himself as Heinrich Stockmann. 

"Jewish? Then you better warn your folks and barricade yourself. I think the local garrison are about to do a pogrom."

[Lucius]

A hurrican of (sexual) violence keeps ripping through Western Siberia.

... Nearly all the girls were soon asleep, including the Countess, who soon dreamed she was thrown into the Nile river where Lithuanian-speaking crocodiles kept biting her between the legs and devoured her breasts.

The Countess has THE weirdest dreams.

[HistBuff]

Chapter 10: Urgent Lust!


Captain Sidorov's thoughts...

For one hour, I managed to keep my men disciplined enough and the railroad station secured, as the distant roaring from the riot in town died out. The passengers inside another train all remained inside their cars as they saw us and were afraid to venture without, understandably so. My men were horny after hearing the rapes back there in town where some people had covered the wet cobblestones with flower petals to honour the grand duchesses, all three of whom had been taken inside our train along with their retinue.

I could no longer hold my men, and I was horny myself. Two things happened fast. One, I gathered the inner guard to keep the grand duchesses isolated in the forward-most cars, i.e the first-class section with their woodwork-rich compartments, while the train's engineers claimed there was a problem with the locomotive's boiler. Two, Lieutenant Malinowski and Sergeant Kürschner managed to keep the Lithuanians under control long enough to gather the retinue's men and lock them up in the rear-most car, a specially prepared cell-car in third class, while they kept the women in the restaurant car in-between. I kept Nastya close against me, pressing her wet travel dress into a prolonged meeting with my wet greatcoat.

The train became a small world with narrow hallways where men's cocks ruled supreme. The women were screaming in the restaurant car; I could hear them clearly and I knew for sure that the urgent gang-rape had begun, with the Countess and Tamara amid all this. I didn't care.

In our own car, Olga and Tatiana were filling their respective compartments with their cries of distress as my men formed line-ups.

I had already taken Anastasia to the next car and into my own first-class compartment. I ordered her inside. Before I vanished in my compartment with her, Dimitri told me the Kommissar was fast asleep in his own compartment, snoring off the cognac he had drunk on the previous night.

As soon as I was alone with Nastya, I began to kiss her while her face and hair were still wet from the rain; the rainwater of Tyumen gave a special touch to her damp hair-scent! Her lips were like a wet fruit. What happened next was a confusion where she cried and protested and begged me to go out there and stop my men from harming her sisters, while kissing me back with the strangest of crazy trances in her corn-flower blue eyes. Her eyebrows were raised from the weight of her feelings for me while the inner conflict raged within her, between love and her duty to her sisters and her family.

The compartment looked stately with seats of earth-brown leather and its dark carpet of a profound earthly purple. Added to it was the peculiar scent of whatever was used to wash those seats; the train conductor would later inform me, with a cautious whisper, over glasses of vodka, that they had washed the compartments for the grand duchesses with essence perfumed with chestnut smoke from the Don River country near the Black Sea. Hence the suave chestnut scent bathing the entire train cabin; and it reflected Nastya's chestnut hair.

"Please, Ivan... Stop! We can't... Not while my sisters... They... Sacrificed themselves for me."

"Would you like a glass of vodka, Nastya? Would you like to play cards?"

"I... I think... Yes..." she replied, with tears in her eyes, while we shared another kiss.

The rain kept striking the compartment's lone window while we remained alone in each other's arms. Her kisses were now flavoured with vodka. We remained together lost in a world of our own. Buying an oasis of paradise amid war's chaos.

***

Countess Hendrikoff's thoughts...

They raped us again. Of course they did! We're powerless, defenseless! At their mercy.

After they gathered us in the restaurant car, I already knew it was coming right next. Tamara was bitterly sobbing. She knew it too. I took her in my arms and we cried together. Then the Lithuanians came and they separated us. Brutally.

I heard Tamara as she screamed while this big gross accordionist tore the front of my dress and bared my breasts as I wasn't wearing anything under. His piggish eyes looking down on them, he cupped them with sensual brutality as he grinned in the middle of the repulsive profusion of his dark beard. I writhed and twisted in their collective grip, but they were too strong and I had to let this ogre taste my breasts all he wanted! The brush of his beard against my skin where no such man was supposed to go. Revolting! I was paying the price for our Czar's incompetence! The commoners had revolted. Us women always paid the dearest price.

"P-please! Please have mercy!" I cried out amid what was now a pandemonium where the compact press of Soviet guards were asking us if we had missed them. In Lithuanian. And I was shocked to find I could now understand some of their words! Getting gang-raped by such a press of men seemed to do wonders in learning a new language.

I got a glimpse of Tamara. She was already Eve-naked. It must have been fun for them to rip her dress off her and uncover the bright-skin magic of her hidden charms; I felt that fun in their roaring jeers. Even I, a woman, had noticed how pretty she was. They were presently holding her face down and bent over a table, where a Lithuanian Corporal I recognized was actively pounding her, his eyes drinking the vast smallness of her buttocks as he gave her the brutal benefit of his repeated strokes, forcing crying whimpers out of her, and soon he looked up at the car's ceiling and let out one beast of a roar as he tightly gripped her waist and let his exploding cock speak for itself inside her.

They made me sit on a table, forced to remain in the arms of this ogre, the stout musician I had often caught looking at me in Tobolsk. With horror I noticed that his cock was out and ready to defile me! He hugged me on that table, forcing my face against his bearded repulsiveness as the others tucked up my dress way up to my waist while a forest of hands touched me everywhere I could think of. Or preferred not to.

The bearded ogre moved himself against me. I felt him! Felt it push inside me!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NAAA AAAAA AAAAAAH AAAAAAAAA NOT THIS! NOT THIS AGAIN!!!"

The penetration came. Forced. Unstoppable!

The bearded ogre cupped my buttocks in his hands. He lifted me up and then let me crash down on the table as he impaled my vagina, marking once again the people's victory now that we aristocrats lay in their power. He bounced me again on the table and against his impaling force; and again! Again! Again... I spent the longest time against him, forced to learn his close intimacy, forced to know his dark hair was slightly curly with many white strands telling me he was a generation older than myself, learning also he had two small birthmarks under the lobe of his ear. All this amid a bouncing tumult of roaring jeers and laughter from his fellow uniformed Lithuanians. I was raped amid a khaki forest of soldiers. Raped by the Red Army. Of course. In sensual pain. One of them poured vodka on my head and called me a Czarist trollop while I kept feeling the ogre's horrible presence inside me, and his pressing force hugging me. It was a lot more shameful than painful, although the pain did sting.

The worst came when I had no choice but to hear the vilest of grunting sounds as he relieved himself. So disgusting! I was just a piece of meat!

"Hrrrnggghh hhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!"

And then he pushed me off him and they pinned me on the table, holding my wrists on either side of me as I looked up and around me and saw all their grinning faces as they poured vodka on my breasts while the bearded ogre wiped his cock against my left leg and they violently pulled and tore off my dress from my hips, from my legs. Then the next man stood between my open legs. A young, handsome boy who grinned at me. They seemed to call him Benas.

I clutched my fists as he rammed himself inside me, his eyes wild with lust. He smiled down at me as his first strokes forced my legs to brush the sides of his uniform. I was one with him. He took my waist with a firm grip and rushed deeper inside me, all this amid a loud cheer of whistles and catcalls and laughter.

"Do you like your soldiers, Milady?" a familiar voice bellowed near me while someone poured vodka on me again, then hands pressed my tits. In the chaotic confusion, I turned to see who had spoken Russian. I saw Petia and the lone red square on his collar. The Red officer was no longer a serf under my father. He must be really enjoying his revenge as he saw me like this!

Benas sounded like a dying man as he painfully reaffirmed his grip around my waist; his moans became a crescendo of longer, louder groaning moans until he twitched inside me and gave out a long-winded groan as he erupted and gave me all his sperm! I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by too many sensations at once, from the strong scent of vodka to the hands kneading my breasts to their fat laughter and jeers and the way they looked at me and grinned. It was monstrous! Grotesque! Preposterous, yet it was the erotic happening of something those rough men had always imagined in their secret-most dreams. The rough hands holding my sore wrists were infecting me with their urgent lust.

They propped my legs up and a cohort of hands caressed my legs. Someone kissed my feet. I felt his warm tongue as he slobbered the toes on my right foot. I heard Petia's yell of triumph, and when he touched me and thrust himself inside me, I knew it was him! I knew his young firm cock.

Tamara was also being raped with her legs up. I recognized who was raping her amid the vodka-drinking Lithuanians. Sergeant Kürschner, his mouth wide-open as he looked at her, his expression no different from the one I imagine negro slaves must have in antebellum Georgia when they revolt in violence and sack their master's house; the gang-rape of his daughters being the grim result; and yes, those dark slaves must have had such an open-mouthed face with crazy-shocked eyes when they stripped and raped the white daughters. Lithuanians held Tamara's arms stretched above her head, forcing her to take the rape as flat and straight on the creaking table, where the pale smallness of her breasts jiggled like nervous profaned knolls that shimmered with the vodka they kept pouring on them as they kept ravaging her.

Her long black hair that had graced salons in St. Petersburg amid the secret desires of ageing counts and princes, of Cossack palace guards too, was now wet with cheap vodka amid the vulgar press of jeering men. Such was the unthinkable price the troubled girl was paying in spades for our Czar's weakness! I shall kill him!

"She loves it when we gang-fuck her! The little harlot!" Someone said in Russian, knowing we would all understand his stinging words.

"Milady! We love sharing our love! This is the common sharing of all goods! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Petia kept hammering me while my feet hoovered on either side of his boyish face. He kept smiling down on me, smiling wide as he repeated, "Yes! We're having the Count's daughter! Us, the serfs! Hmmn! This is good! This is aahh-good!"

The others kept my legs warm with their running hands, while the former serf and his boyish face greatly tensed up above me as he reached his point of no return. My own body was taken by the collective heat, vanquished by a boy's prowess inside me as I was... Raped on the creaking table, next to a forgotten cup of porcelain on a saucer, I weirdly almost felt happy for him when he relieved himself. The uniformed schoolboy almost looked angry at me as he gave me his semen, as he got into a trance, head bobbing and he lost his peak-cap, unaware he looked more handsome without it, with his rugged blond hair over his apple-cheeked face. He was half-peasant, half-schoolboy as he fertilized me with his eyes half-closed.

He was then replaced by a Private that I recognized as Herkus, who used me roughly and nearly forced me to climax as he held my waist with a pair of strong peasant hands. When he was done, he left me panting and in sweat, feeling like the whore I was now in their hands. Then came a wrinkled old soldier they called Jonas. He was too short to rape me on that table, so they moved me around until I was bent over the table, where I could smell my own sweat as Jonas forced himself inside me with a vigor that greatly surprised me from a man of his years. This did it for me! Those men were so strong! My body responded in a way I just couldn't stop. I hated this! And yet I was forced to enjoy some of it. Because it was so preposterous it felt like a bad dream with notes of forced bliss.

I spend the time with Jonas bent over with my cheek sliding on that table, moaning loud like a whore as the climax hits me! And it hits me again while Jonas breeds me long and hard, as if he were twenty again. I see Claire my loyal maid, nude and surrounded by Lithuanians, who keep her in their arms and offer her the suspended carousel where one man forces her to groan from the violence of his thrusts while the others keep her restrained with no part of her touching the floor. There is disbelief in her eyes as she looks at me amid her sweating suitors

Tamara was being roughly enjoyed, now bent over just like myself as a well-built Corporal used her, his open mouth dropping worlds of frothing slobber. He was so far gone!

Something hot and gooey was felt in the small of my back, and I wondered what it could be. Jonas was still holding the crease of my hips and he was still throbbing inside me, so this could not be semen. Slobber! Jonas was dropping frothing slobber out of the sheer joy of raping me. I was swimming in a dream where the unthinkable kept happening over and over.

"We're happy to be of service, Milady!" said a voice I recognized. Sergeant Kürschner. There was a young negro beside him. A black boy! No! I knew why he had brought the porter here. I panicked. Men had to restrain me firmer as I jerked and tried to flee. Jonas died inside me. Kürschner kept smiling at me as the others raped me in urgent succession. "We own you, Countess Hendrikoff. I hope you like African boys."

There I remained, a sex slave bent over on the same creaking table, violated by a whole squad of Lithuanians. It probably lasted longer than it felt for me. This succession of a dozen men was soon over because I greatly dreaded what came next. The black porter! I was to be raped by a negro! Was I raped by such a man yesterday? I tried to recollect that soup of confusion, but I wasn't sure. I vaguely remembered being raped by General Tatischev and he had said he had always wanted to fuck me. Maybe I imagined this. My world was a borscht of confusion with vodka endlessly poured on my head as Lithuanian words and cocks and repeated jeers kept constantly pounding me into oblivion.

Somewhere at my right, they had the Doctor's blonde wife as a lovely show of legs and feet on a table. Some of the train station's staff members were also there to partake. A uniformed old man who looked like the train's conductor was presently enjoying the submissive wife as she took him like a lifeless doll, her ankles resting on his shoulders with her feet hoovering at either side of his cap-wearing sweating head, where the wife's sensitive feet sometimes brushed his large white whiskers in the brutal tumult of his grunts, while a couple of young Lithuanians caressed and licked these dainty feet, enjoying what wasn't theirs.

Somewhere else, Catherine Schneider, a former tutor at the court, had been stripped naked and offered a surprisingly young figure, where Lithuanians had knelt down to bathe her young-looking butt with hot slobber as they took long tongue strokes, tasting the salt of her white skin that was born to a Baltic German family all the way back in 1856.

Nearby, Countess Anastasia Hendrikova, a lady-in-waiting to the former grand duchesses, was bent over where her solid, yet graceful buttocks were taking the rough punishment from a well-built man who no doubt worked for the Trans-Siberian railroad company. Her face gave every sign of annoyance mixed with surprise and wonder. My personal impression was she had never been fucked before. And I knew she was about thirty years of age and looked quite pretty in the nude.

When the entire squad had taken their delight inside me, Sergeant Kürschner ordered them to sink me down on my knees.

As I stood on my knees, I once more felt ashamed of being naked amid their pressing circle, and yet, a part of me felt proud, weirdly proud to have all their caressing gazes freely running all over me, caressing me like weightless waves of heat. After receiving all their sperm, I felt a grotesque bond between I and them. I felt how they loved my feet, my legs, my whole figure. And I felt like a Countess who was raped by her own garrison soldiers and secretly enjoyed it. I knew that the grand duchesses were sharing my fate elsewhere in the train, and it fed my sense of all social barriers being smashed wide open in this realm where the most sordid dreams took flesh.

The young porter brought my secret sensuality to an end. The negro boy didn't dare look at me as he stood naked in front of me. I broke down in tears and Petia came and held me in place with firm hands.

"Now, Milady! Imagine your father's mansion is somewhere in Africa and such slave boys have been working for you for years. But somehow they revolt and they storm and sack your father's mansion. You try to hide, but they find you! They grab you and no matter how angry you get, how loud you scream, no hero comes to save you and their dark hands disrobe you! And now, Milady, learn! Learn what an African boy tastes like!" Petia bellowed.

"Come on, boy! Go right ahead! She wants you. She just doesn't know it yet," Kürschner added.

The short negro finally unfroze. While still avoiding my gaze, he walked on me while masturbating. He had a respectable size, a terrifying size! His being just a boy and possibly shorter than myself added to my public shame as I watched in horror, getting trapped by the quickly forming bond between me and him as his hand kept massaging his coconut-brown manhood while he completed his advance on my kneeling figure.

Time stops as I hear the Sergeant give the dreaded order... "Countess Hendrikoff, open your mouth and let this boy give you a taste of Africa! And if he feels any of your teeth, we will disfigure you for life! Now come on, boy! Do what you've always dreamed of doing with a pretty white passenger!"

The porter became like a gone-wild golem! As I obeyed the command, he shoved his cock inside my open mouth and my senses exploded upon feeling this against my tongue and palate. The smell! His musk overwhelmed me! It caused me to rebel against my horror and wish for this thick brown cock to be inside my pussy! I felt curious to discover what it would feel like to have a negro inside me. I had heard they were beasts through those whispered conversations between ladies, although it was a very rare lady who had actually lived that experience. All of us had read accounts of the Zulu wars where British and Boer settlers had been attacked by those fierce warriors, and we all could imagine that some farmer's wives and daughters had been forced to taste and feel their powerful cocks during the sack of their ranch.

With his timid hands, the boy grabbed my head and began to violate my face as he took a gentle hold on my vodka-smelling hair. I tried to look up and observe his tropical features, but he kept me looking lower, level with his muscular abdomen as I noticed how well-toned his body was. I was hit by the urge of licking his firm abdomen. A force made me surrender to this young Zulu! His musk filling my mouth overcame me! I took a morbid sense of comfort in becoming war booty for him, as a white noblewoman. Now an obedient slave. There was something sweet and soothing in the act of surrendering myself to the cock of a negro! It bulged and throbbed against my tongue as he used my mouth and imprisoned my ears within the hot walls of his grunting. He kept at it, holding my hair with added zest as his grunts grew more urgent. 

He was soon done! The porter yelled his loud victory, like an island cannibal raping a white woman before butchering her, and as he screamed he forced me to learn his name... "AAAAAAA YYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRHHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAHH WHITE MILADY! Klimbo's happy to serve you! Very very happy! Ooooooh so vvery happy!"

The ropes of sludge spewed out of him and into my gullet. The taste had sour salty sugar in it. Gooey! Vile. Yet loaded with something unfathomable as my hair remained clutched in his small brown hands. His last words had sounded humble. This further debased me, as I swallowed the last of his semen. I was beneath him. Lower than dirt.

"Now, Countess Hendrikoff," Sergeant Kürschner said as he approached, "you will do me the same favour as him. After all, you're getting promoted to the rank of whore since my cock is a white one! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

And I had to endure it all over again as he shoved himself in my mouth and grabbed my head to use it for his own delight. This felt worse because I loathed this man, who had been a serf under my father just like Petia. Words fail me to describe how debased I felt as one by one, Kürschner, Petia and a few Lithuanians took their turns in using my mouth. Some of them pulled out and let their loads land on my face, on my breasts, which I secretly found very sensual and erotic, but most of them, including Petia and Kürschner, made me swallow their disgusting sludge! They knew how much I hated this.

The man inside my mouth twitched and pulled out. He spewed his hot load all over my face. "UUUGGHH, Milady--nnnnnhh..." he uttered as he showered me with his glistening sludge.

There was added heat on the top of my hair and this was NOT vodka. I turned my head around and saw the two youngest men in the Lithuanian platoon, just lads, who had been masturbating behind my back. They had landed their sperm on my hair! Plenty of it. I was ruined!

"You have a very beautiful butt, Countess! I've always wanted to see it!" Said the taller one in bad Russian, who clearly had lied about his age when he joined the Bolsheviks. He had stripped himself out of his uniform and looked like the Lithuanian version of a Greek statue. I couldn't help but love what I saw. I felt shockingly debased, and yet I also felt like reaching up and licking his abdomen! For he was so handsome! Especially to the eyes of a not-so-young girl like me. How the time flies! I was their age only yesterday. I knew my years of being a boy's secret dream were numbered.

The negro boy grabbed me and gave me a command! "On all fours, white woman!"

I was shocked as I looked at him. His cock was already hard again! A brown Zulu thing I was about to feel deep inside me. I was about to share the unwritten fate of a few English or Boer girls at the hands of dark Africa. The worst for me was to realize that my body wanted to feel his hands, his touch. And the savage power of his cock.

The porter took my waist in his hands and the penetration forced me to whimper and yelp, out of the shock of understanding the impossible! The negro was now inside my pussy!

I felt his straining and felt the pain as he seemed to rape me with hate and anger. The Lithuanians encouraged him as he gave me an unforgettable experience.

"Countess Hendrikoff, tell us how much you love being fucked by negroes!" Kürschner yelled, losing no opportunity to further torment me. "Say it! Say it loud for all to hear! I love African boys!" 

There was threat in the tone he used. And as the boy kept enjoying me, I let go the last surviving shreds of my dignity and said, "Aahhh yes! Yes! I love negro boys! I l-love being their wh- their whore!"

And just as I said those words, the boy sounded like a dying baboon as he powerfully relieved himself inside me. And the unstoppable orgasm hit me as he flooded me with African sperm.

"AAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN Tamara! Aah Tamara! Your feet! Your lovely little feet to die for! aaaoohhh... You're worth the waste of my sperm!" I heard a man say as he exploded and gave Tamara a load that should have been mine. The dirty little tramp! That voice belonged to Ivan Sidorov, the lover who had betrayed and raped me yesterday. I still wanted him inside me!

I confusedly saw Dmitri begin to take his own turn inside Tamara, also with her legs propped up against him and his grinning face, before my view was blocked by a pair of gross men whose bearded faces were black with soot. Each one had his cock out. Petia gave me the now-familiar command and I opened my mouth wide where I stood on my knees. And both men entered inside my mouth! They stretched my lips with their double size!

"I trust that you like train engineers, Milady!" bellowed Kürschner "They too had been dreaming of having a lovely passenger!"

The rest of it was a long nightmare, although one of the locomotive engineers would complain it ended too soon. A nightmare of vile grunting as the even viler taste of their cocks made me bitter against the former Czar and his weakness that was now costing me more than an empire. They were so vile!

Once their cocks were well-slobbered and as stiff as an oak stick, one of them had me down on all fours and took the usual position behind me. I knew what came next. But the other one turned around and pressed his bare buttocks right against my face, while I tried to look away, but the one behind me held me with hands of steel and he now thrust himself inside me. And while I was being raped like a bitch on all fours, the other engineer farted! In my face!

Petia and Kürschner laughed out loud amid the cheers and whistles from the cock-satiated Lithuanians while the first engineer took his turn inside me with his soot-black face. He soon uttered a long litany of moans as he took his urgent relief. Then the farting one took me as well, like a breeding dog, as he howled like a wolf. Yes, the Czar's disaster was costing me more than an empire.

Captain Sidorov's thoughts...

After enjoying this incredible fuck with Tamara, I found myself outside, sipping a glass of vodka along with Dimitri and ten or twelve men, all mixed together between inner and outer guards. They stood watch under the quiet night sky. Now that the rain had finally stopped, it was a most enjoyable evening, almost as warm as a June night, with the gas-lamp posts reflected on the wet street; another evening of a spring that would soon belong to history. We could hear the general lamentations of the women inside the restaurant car. We had our backs to it. I recognized Tamara's frantic yelps as she was no doubt being used some more by the younger Lithuanians. I also knew Hendrikoff's clear moans for having heard them myself, from my close intimacy with this noblewoman whom I had betrayed and thrown at the wolves.

"Listen to the music she makes!" Dimitri said as he smoked a cigarette. "The Countess is having the time of her life! And she's enjoying it!"

I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry. Countess Hendrikoff was one of the finest women I had ever met. I had avoided looking at her when I walked in that restaurant car after having comforting Nastya as she wouldn't stop crying over what befell her sisters. She knew Olga and Tania had sacrificed themselves in their attempt at protecting her, so she felt guilty. Nastya had tried to distract herself by talking about Jimmy her dog, a King Charles spaniel. I had left her under the care of Boris and Oleg. My duty and morality should have made me stay with Nastya, but my urge to go and rape Tamara had proven too strong.

My cock had shown a feat of endurance that was out of the human realm and was only possible through a most unique gathering of unusual circumstances, such as Tamara's troubling grace, the spiritual rosy whiteness of her feet, Nastya's presence on the train and the Countess's eyes on me when I raped Tamara. Thankfully I was now bruised down there and utterly done for at least three days before any chance of resurrecting it. All that was left for me to do was to guard the grand duchesses one final night and I'd be on my way home for a two-week leave.

Sumeyye! My wife. The only woman I should fuck. Nastya was a girl I could never truly have, no matter how many times I kissed her. Now I felt guilt and a sense of betrayal as I thought about Sumeyye. She should have been enough for me and I ought to have been the better husband she saw in me. If Sumeyye ever learned about what I did during the war, and about what I just did in the last couple of days... It would break her heart forever. Her brothers would seek me out to murder me.

There I was, speaking with Dimitri about how great it felt inside Tamara, how she yelled and yelped and begged me to stop as I just hugged her propped-up legs and went at it with everything I had left. I was growing tired of such orgies, but the magic of Tamara's bare feet had given me a second wind, and I had ravaged her fair and square with my miraculous erection!

"And as I was about to burst, I saw the jiggling of her beautiful white tits and pulled out, and I showered her abdomen with my sludge, a forceful load of it that covered her navel area and her triangle of pussy hair with the irregular gloss of a pooling pond! My legs went soft under me and I thought I was going to die. I screamed! It was so wonderful! I'm going to do this again later that night!"

"Me too, Komroty! Me too!" Dimitri said. He had himself enjoyed Tamara with her feet up. He had filled her up while kissing her magically graceful feet. The most beautiful pair of feet I had ever seen, only rivaled by my wife's light-olive grace. Indeed, the record of my most intense and powerful ejaculation dated back to my long-gone wedding night with Sumeyye. And it still stood to this day.

The guards kept quietly chatting and smoking together. Russians with Russians; Lithuanians with their peers. My own men were telling the tale of how they had raped Olga and Tatiana in two different compartments.

"We had two line-ups," Yuri said. "It was simpler this way. Each girl raped alone while still hearing everything that happened to her sister in the next cabin! It was brutal! I chose Olga since I had her younger sister the night before."

"Olga? Why not Tatiana, she's so much prettier!" Vladimir replied before forming ghostly rings with the smoke from his cigarette.

"I agree, but, no offense, my dear Vladimir! Olga doesn't look like much, but once you take off her clothes, she becomes a goddess. Did you ever see the curves of her butt and the lines of her legs? And her bare feet? And her tits! She looks like porcelain in the form of a Copenhagen mermaid, her fishtail morphed into the most gorgeous legs you'd be ready to die for! The proof is in the pudding. Three times over, I took her like a bitch on all fours, and every time the eruption of sperm was massive! It almost killed me, I tell ya!"

"Oh, I see. Then I should try Olga out tonight. Thankfully, we're still stranded here in Tyumen, so we have the whole trip to Yekaterinburg left to enjoy our spoils of the Revolution. The engineers! They claim there's some trouble in the boiler. I'm sure the locomotive is fine! You should have seen how they raped the boiler-hell out of Tatiana Romanova! They grunted like jungle monkeys as they shot their sperm inside her, looking at her breasts with mad eyes that wouldn't believe they were actually inside a grand duchess, and the prettiest one at that! They're brave proletarians whose soot-blackened faces and beards stand for a great many long hours of hard labour. They deserved this lucky break!"

"Thanks for telling me this, Vlad! While I enjoyed Olga, I felt curious to know what was happening to Tania. Our Kommissar was first inside Olga. You should have heard how he kept yelling he was a negro raping her! He must have heard the story about the stewards, the Father and the Son, partaking on the Russ. The negroes had honoured Tatiana, but for some reason, the Kommissar chose Olga. Maybe he's afraid of Tatiana!"

"Don't say this. Here he comes, the man himself!"

Indeed, Rodionov was there, in his black uniform with those cavalry pants that deployed like comical wings out of his thighs. All men saluted him along with myself. He looked tired as he saluted us back with a casual gesture that would never have been passed on a parade square in Moscow. Tired, with joy in his eyes. He had clearly enjoyed his time with Olga. After hearing Yuri about Olga's nakedness, I felt curious to see for myself. To see and feel for myself, if my energy allowed it. 

"Lovely evening, Komroty, isn't it?"

I nodded and smiled, my legs still bathing in the fresh memory of my deep encounter with Tamara, the more-troubled-than-ever girl.

"We need to get going, Komroty. Why didn't you go fetch those lazy engineers? We should be on our way by now! Go and fix this!"

But then we all heard something out there in the distance. A wide-encompassing concert of roars. A violence-filled rumour that came from the town. It was soon followed by shrill screams. The screams from panicking Jewish girls and women as their homes were being forced open by an angry mob of men from other neighbourhoods and soldiers from the garrison. The pogrom had begun.

We stood there and listened. Rodionov seemed to have forgotten the order he just gave me. We all listened to the screams of despair as we pictured the scenes of homes being invaded by soldiers and ruffians. The smashed furniture. The father and elder sons being beaten up, perhaps severely injured, a few of them even killed, while trying to protect their household. We new their true objective. The daughters; the panicking, wailing girls were grabbed and unmercifully disrobed by West Siberian men who called them "Jewish whores".

Their revealed nudity was violated by their hungry gazes, shortly before they were violated properly and were robbed of their virtue, losing their marriageability as they either shrieked or took the angry thrusts in frozen panic. We heard shrill wailing cries that sent a chill down our spine; the pet dogs were getting killed by the mob, either because they had tried to defend the household or simply out of cruelty. Hidden cats. Girls wounded forever. The Jewish girls and the treasures of their biblical bodies. There was the ultimate goal of any pogrom.

We remained there in some mystical trance. The horrific sensuality filled the air. It seemed to feed the gaslights whose moonlight glow was quietly reflected on the wet asphalt where rainwater had formed puddles here and there. The hoofs of a passing hansom struck that wet asphalt as the coachman hurried on, his passengers no doubt in fear.

Then, after a while, we heard light footsteps that had to belong to children, or girls. 

After a short while, we saw them. Two girls running into the station! They clearly hadn't seen us yet. One girl was wearing a long dress, and was of average height. Her pale skin and her graceful motions as she ran gave a touch of despaired glamour to the scene. A shorter girl ran after her, and presently begged her to slow down. I realized I had seen this girl earlier. Of course! She was the fashionable young lady I had saved from a rape attempt by Stefan and Yuri last afternoon! So their home had been sacked... 

Both girls stopped dead in their tracks as they saw us. The taller one looked at me. Yes, she remembered me. She looked at me with imploring eyes as a jeering squad of soldiers ran into sight and both girls were soon surrounded and captured.

Rodionov smiled as he watched, even putting his hands on his groin as he anticipated the forced erotic show that was soon to follow, those flapping wings on his horse-riding trousers adding a black touch of grotesque to his grimly comical figure as he grinned and looked on.

I felt sorry for the girls, even though the devil inside me hoped they would be raped on the spot. The smaller girl was about the same size as Nastya, but slimmer with jet-black hair. I had never seen her before and I felt evilly fascinated at the prospect of seeing this small girl getting forcibly stripped out of her nightgown, with those white ribbons in her long dark hair, and then brutally induced in her adult life. The thrill of curiosity I felt at this prospect would haunt me until my dying day.

We morally should have stepped up and protected these poor girls, but we stood by and watched as the eight or nine soldiers grabbed the screaming girls and tore at their clothes!

Both girls entered a grotesque dance as their torn dresses and gowns were tucked all they way up their legs and to their waist. The taller young lady was a local beauty. She was almost a young woman and her shrill screams told everything about her innocence. The shapes of her corset lasted a fleeting moment as the leader swiftly used a knife to cut the laces at her back while others restrained her in a bent-over position, while hands explored her legs, and they grinned as they taunted "the lovely little Jewish tramp".

Meanwhile, the smaller girl went into a terrified silence as three men assaulted her and ripped her nightgown wide open! Wide open as the diminutive play of her flat breasts was revealed in a sudden splendour of white skin under the gaslights! I saw those small dots of shadow and was damned forever as I contemplated her dancing nipples atop tiny knolls that told the story of a maiden soon the be made a woman. Hers were the smallest tits I had ever seen on a grown girl. I wanted to suck them!

Fate showed her to my eyes in a three-quarter profile, where I saw those tiny knolls on her small torso amid the press of hands, and the gross laughter of tipsy soldiers assaulting and towering above her. Her nipples were there like small blotches of brown wine, and those tiny tits perhaps wanted to be as full as the pair of perky breasts that was presently revealed as the leader got rid of the taller lady's corset. I heard the savage grunts as the men brutally made the young lady topless, giving fat whistles and catcalls to the diminutive grace of her revealed torso.

"Jewish girl! Jewish girl! Good to fuck!" said the leader as he cupped her breasts.

"Look at her tits! Mmhh! I'm so hungry for them!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MIRIAM! Mriam! Help!" the smaller girl screamed as the debauchery of her long black hair was freed of her white ribbons and freed of any burdens of social constraints, just as plainly as her small naked body where boyish buttocks offered a paleness that should never had been seen anywhere in public, as the soldiers finished the ripping destruction of her nightgown, leaving miserable shreds of white fabric on her naked truth.

"This Jewish girl has nice biblical hair down there. A lovely little line!" said a soldier who was already masturbating.

"I'm so fucking hard! Hold her down and spread her legs!"

The small brunette shrieked and kept calling the taller girl by her name as they did just that. "Miriam! Miriam, please help!"

Miriam was herself too busy getting her breasts sucked by avid soldiers from the garrison. In the afternoon, they had been disappointed upon seeing how spent the grand duchesses were as they disembarked from the Russ with their equally distressed entourage. Now they had a lovely compensation!

"Jewish tits taste good! Aaaaahrr yes!"

"Jewish girls are a good stock! Always good to have some downtown!"

Before long, a first soldier was raping the small girl, who once again fell in a horror-struck silence as she received her very first man inside her and her innocence died. Her tiny legs naturally brushed the khaki sides of his parade-neat uniform, and she reacted just like any whimpering woman of any age as the man quickly reached his climax and hailed the loss of her innocence with a gross, slobber-filled groan as he spewed a debauchery of sperm down there.

Miriam was swiftly stripped to her bare skin. Gone and destroyed was her petticoat! Its torn ruins joined her ruined dress on the wet asphalt, while her ass brought erotic enlightenment to all those depraved men. I felt her Jewish whiteness operate a miracle in me upon seeing how firm and lovely she was! A profusion of beauty in her small hourglass shape! And her screams and vain attempts to fight the men off her were lovely to hear and watch!

Two old vagrants joined the soldiers; I saw the old men looking at Miriam's buttocks with mad feverishness in their eyes as they began to masturbate with their mouth wide open; they had struck gold! In the form of a girl whose wonderful charms looked like silver silk under the gaslights.

"Hold on, Esther! Hold on! We will be avenged someday--hhmmnn NOOO!" Miriam suddenly shouted for the small girl to hear, who was finally freed from the first soldier's weight as he got back up and smiled at his peers.

While Esther was already taking the second man, Miriam was soon bent over and ordered not to move by the leading soldier, a Corporal, tall and well-built, who then freed his eager cock and began to rape her where she stood! Lucky man! He strained against her tight door with joy as he grabbed her waist amid a deafening roar of jeers and catcalls.

"Aaahhhh yes! Yes she's a-yielding! YEs! I broke her in!" the madman Corporal shouted as he tightened his grip around her waist and strained until he was all the way inside Miriam! She shrieked in absolute pain and horror while the men around her laughed and jeered as they restrained her and repeated the command with a threat. 

"Stay standing or we kill your sister!"

I had the privilege of watching the mind-boggling scene, filled with guilt from the guilty pleasure I took out of it. Miriam's buttocks were baptized with repeated collisions as each fast-repeated stroke took her virginity and made her less of a maiden and more of a whore.

"Miriam! Miriam Stockmann! We finally got her! Hurry up, Sergei! I can't wait until I try her out!"

"Miriam! I swear to God I'll breed you!"

"Just how old is she?"

"Already twenty. Her cute sister Esther turned eighteen two weeks ago."

"AAAHH--AAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHH!!!" uttered the soldier who had been raping Esther on the wet asphalt. His eyes looked surprised upon finding out how long and violent his ejaculation had proven to be. Such a huge load for such a small girl! Esther was troubling and worth a king's ransom of semen.

We all stood there and watched, exchanging nods and knowing smiles with the local soldiers. One of whom saw me and recognized the man who had shot and killed their commanding officer. His grin told me how unpopular this Major really was. What was his name? It didn't matter. The smug Major was gone.

The Corporal kept feeding Miriam a barrage of strokes that got lost under the bright buttocks of the bent-over girl, restrained by the squad of soldiers, then he looked up at the night sky and uttered a long, unintelligible series of grunting sounds as he emptied his sperm stores inside Miriam, enjoying the coitus from behind to its last drop as he squeezed her butt between his hands. "Miriam Stockman... All inside herrrhhh!"

The gang-rape took shape. Miriam was kept standing and bent over, her butt curves the prettiest sight in the streets of Tyumen as no less than five men took their turns in mounting her, the taller ones even going into the discomfort of having to bend their legs to line up their thing with her lower height, as Miriam got given a hefty amount of Orthodox semen.

This while Esther was kept lying down on the wet asphalt and urgently raped by four other men, her breasts too small to jiggle under them while she took the barrage of blows with closed eyes and the expression of a girl who just took a full bite out of a sour lemon. Her eyebrows were like the finest pen strokes under the disarrayed mass of her long raven hair. What struck me hard was how aroused I felt at the sight of her nearly flat chest. Those tiny breasts unwilling to dance amid all this violence seemed to scream "Rape! Rape! Rape!"

Ruffians had heard Miriam's screaming and were there as sure as there are stars in the sky. The clouds were dissipating up there, but the darkest storm of fate was raging down there under the gaslights. No electricity yet in this barbaric city.

"Miriam! It's Miriam Stockmann! Yes!" said a ruffian, his face dark with filth, while one of the old vagrants was now raping Miriam from behind, standing with his filthy trousers down as he gave her repeated thrusts, holding her waist and looking down at the ever-moving play of her damsel's hourglass shape, his features all lighted up in some devilish show of stretched-eyebrows ecstasy as he got lost in the leitmotiv collisions with her youth in the form of the silky softness of her butt.

"Yes, it's her! At last! We're going to buck her the whole night through!"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE NNNNGggggggggggggggggggghhh!!!" was the vagrant's final statement as his thick angry ropes of semen abolished all the social distance between him and the rich Jewish daughter.

The other vagrant pushed his fellow old man out of the way and immediately took over. With lust and anger, he urgently raped Miriam as she sank down on her knees, yelping with pain as her nightmarish rapist followed her down on the asphalt, where she whimpered on with soon-to-be-bruised knees and it came down to a gross slugfest of growling sounds and urgent strokes, until the old man capitulated, vanquished by the small fullness of her curves, and his scream of glee echoed against the nearby brick houses as he failed to wrap his greying head around the fact he was ejaculating inside the prettiest Jewish girl in town.

A ruffian, this one younger, took over and furthered the bruising of her knees as he forced her to realize that younger men raped with more punishing brutality. Others were waiting with their cocks out, ready and stinking while the nine soldiers were now looking on, satisfied, while smoking.

We stood and watched on, at times peeing under the car, as the ruffians threw themselves on Miriam, the more impatient ones on Esther. And both girls were submitted to an even more barbaric continuation of their shared nightmare.

Esther was put on all fours and they ignored the pain in her knees against the wet asphalt as they began to pound her. Such a pale radiance in her small bottom that nonetheless showed some sweeping curves! I felt so utterly fascinated by this imprompty display of small-girl beauty! I was as hard as a rutting camel as I witnessed the systematic rape from behind, where none of the men lasted more than a minute or two inside this Jewish girl as the men kept giving her full-fledged strokes that seemed to somehow get lost between her small buttcheeks. 

Miriam understood she better keep silent and not attract more men as she found herself surrounded by a forest of no less than seven or eight cocks that she was ordered to lick. A few of the men let her lick their cock until they treated themselves to the joy of splattering her pretty face with goo. Most preferred to use her pussy.

Some of the ruffians were Tatars from the Muslim community. I couldn't believe the sight as five or six such men raped Miriam from behind and gave their sperm to the Jewish girl as they felt the spiritual wobbliness of their gone-weak legs and screamed, "ALLAHU AKBAR!"

***

Captain Sidorov's thoughts... (continued)

Then we heard hooves. A hansom foolishly drove into the station! He was driving at a gallop! Then he stopped to a screeching halt with a staggering show of skill. We couldn't believe our eyes! How foolish this stovepipe-wearing coachman was! But the passenger was protesting, shaking his fist at the coachman while her young wife screamed as she saw the gathered press of men and she then screamed even louder and shriller upon seeing the naked girls! All was clear to us as the coachman began beating down his male passenger with a walking stick! The forty-something coachman had driven the young couple into the station where he had heard the gang-rapes. He had taken them there so he could knock out the man and then rape the young wife. He was a man of opportunity.

Some of the soldiers made sure the young husband was out of commission while others grabbed the screaming wife, who shrieked as loud and shrill as if this was going to save her. It only made the men around her hornier.

"I know her!" the Corporal said. "It's Agnès Tolstoievski, the young wife Leonid brought back from France!"

"Let's strip her!"

"Give her to the coachman first! He earned her!" the Corporal ordered.

As soon as the soldiers began to tear her dress down, Agnès looked at us with transfixed eyes. Was she hoping we were going to save her? If we had not been this tired from our exertions earlier that night, we would have joined them in raping her along with the Jewish girls. She only owed her lesser load of abuse to the semen we had left inside the grand duchesses and the other women in their retinue; hopefully to our discipline as well. We stood there and watched, our guns and rifles a strong deterrent for any man who would have wished to climb on the train and get acquainted with our women. The other deterrent being the safely available Agnès and the thoroughly raped Jewish girls.

Out of nowhere, the coachman produced a box-like instrument that offered a quiet gloss under the gaslights. It was a Kodak, with its pyramid-like protrusion that looked like some small accordion, but one that tapered to a dark glossy eye that seemed eager to capture Agnès, whose little hands made lovely little fists where soldiers restrained her wrists while forcing her fancy dress open in one loud ripping show of eagerness, revealing the grandiose shapes of her corset as she seemed to dance in their midst while the smiling coachman held the Kodak in front of her.

"Agnès! Leave her alone, you dogs!" the husband yelled.

"Shut up, bugger!" said a ruffian as he silenced him with a vicious blow from the coachman's stick he had just picked up. "And be a bit more original in your name-calling! You could call us a pack of rutting boars who are about to breed your wife like you never could! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NOO! AAAAAAAAAAA HURTS!" Agnès screamed in pain as a man pressed her sides with such force that the brass busks of her pricey corset were released out of their loops and the corset was opened from the front. Before long, the young wife was only wearing her under-gown and one of her shoulders was naked; they had loosened her long hair so she looked like a street whore, and that's when the coachman blinded the scene with a flash as he stilled her in black & white for posterity...



"Агнес, шлюха!" said the Corporal, pronouncing her name as "Agnis" as he called her a shlyukha, a whore. Then, amid the general laughter and catcalls, the bourgeois wife protested her head out as the soldiers from a garrison who knew her well proceeded to rip her gown off her while some hands swiftly undid and removed her shoes and socks, leaving her properly naked and ready to be gang-fucked while her husband lay unconscious near the stopped handsome, his out-of-date stovepipe hat lying next to him on the wet asphalt. The horse stood there and dropped a heap of dung.

Agnis fell silent while all hands devoured the revealed French sensuality of her nakedness where she sat with her tilted ass on her feet with her legs under her, begging them with her eyes, but her perky breasts were too inviting, with strong brown circles for areolas as her nipples seemed surprised to found themselves in plain sight amid a press of strangers. The strangest of things was she did not try to cover herself; she almost looked like a model getting ready for another photo. She didn't resist much as grinning troops laid her down.

The horny coachman satisfied his taste for photography by flashing his apparatus and gifting the posterity with the portrait. Once he had taken the memorable snap-shot, the soldiers kindly held his lovely naked passenger down on the asphalt while some young recruit held his Kodak for him, looking at it as if it were a holy relic while the forty-something man dropped his trousers, and while still wearing his high stovepipe and his coachman's dark cloak, he laid himself down on top of Agnès, and she nearly entirely disappeared under him and his cloak.

She yelped with surprised pain as the penetration occurred. The coachman soon lost his stovepipe to the asphalt as he fully exerted himself on Agnès, who quietly whimpered under his urgent barrage of thrusts, her little fists clenched where her wrists were properly restrained as per a timeless military tradition by the jeering soldiers, whose cocks could hardly wait while her legs strained under similar restraints at her ankles, while the red-faced coachman, his balding head in plain view, kept pounding her while grunting and blurting out words of joy such as, "At last I can fuck my passenger!"

He soon yelled his high pleasure at her face and kissed her as he relieved himself and I watched his climax while firmly masturbating. After him, the Corporal took his own pleasure, also by flattening her under him, her fists always clenched as she whimpered on, crying over the loss of her honour. Once the Corporal had given her the sounds of a dying man, the most senior Private took her and her eyes grew wide as she realized she was going to get raped by the whole squad in descending order of ranks, as per military tradition.

"Non! Non j'vous en prie! Laissez-moi..." Agnès feebly protested now and then, reverting to her native French as she was given the honour of the garrison troops. Her fists remained clenched as she took each man after the other.

Once the apple-cheeked recruit had filled her up with the vigor of his youthful seed, I couldn't help myself! I rushed at Agnès and the soldiers let me have her since I was the man who had shot their Major. With my cock as hard as a breeding stallion, I laid myself down on her and took ten wonderful seconds to suck her tits and feel her young flesh yield under my frantic tongue and kisses.

With the taste of her nipples in my mouth, I penetrated her and spent the next fast-going minutes inside the bourgeois wife, enjoying the destruction of all social rules while licking her whimpering face and pounding her with unrestrained abandon. Her vagina felt just as tight as Tamara's!

I thought I was going to enjoy a massive eruption, but fatigue caught up with me. With a curse, I pulled out my half-flaccid cock out of Agnès and stood up on my knees amid the jeering of the soldiers. Kneeling between her legs, I masturbated hard while looking down on the visual paradise that lay under me—Agnès with her eyes closed, her dark hair made black by the night, and her breasts! Just there under the starlight with the wide play of her nipples. Her beauty, finally freed from her social dress.

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as I realized with unfathomable joy that I was passing my edge! And with spasms throughout my kneeling frame, I began to yell at her while shooting long, thick bolts of sperm that landed on her abdomen, some drops making it as far as her breasts...

"Yes! Yes! The Revolution! We won! We won and the rich lie under the poor!—Hhmmnnn NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYGGHH!!!"

The sight of this glossy rain on her inspired the others, who all at once surrounded her amid a circle of kneeling soldiers, each of whom masturbated hard and grunted, all looking down on the fantastic sight of her naked bosom, and the home triangle of her dark cunt hair. Lost amid the forest of cocks, Agnès began to receive loads of semen from soldiers she had often seen standing at attention on parade square. They were now doing what they had always fantasized about.

"Aaahh yyaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"AAAAHHRRRRRR AGNIS! ANGNGNGNIS!"

"HMMFFFFFFHHH!!!"

"GGD JJVVmmmmmmnnn gghh!"

As her breasts were given the hot gloss of shame, her fists remained clenched. I saw her open her mouth ajar, just slightly, and she moaned. She moaned under the rape of Tyumen's high society. The rape of the rich by the poor. The victory of Bolsheviks.

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I returned near the restaurant car, while Agnès disappeared under a press of ruffians and vagrants. Some of the Lithuanians joined them in this orgy of rapes at the expense of the young wife, who was now kept on all fours and forced to receive each and every beggar, ruffian or filthy vagrant inside her married pussy. Some of this rabble decided they preferred to take her back door, and Agnès screamed in the strangest of sounds, a mix of pain and pleasure in her face as she discovered anal sex, thanks to a stout beer-drinking lowlife, whose wide face offered eyes like gems of bliss as he emptied himself inside her rectum.

Thankfully, Dmitri and the men of the inner guard kept a good watch around the train. None of those men was allowed inside. The other train where the passengers had been cowering all this time was assaulted when a full platoon of soldiers showed up. After a short-lived siege where a few gunshots were fired and one soldier fell, this other train next to ours was overrun—Soon enough, I heard the women and their shrill screams that told me the newcomers had found themselves a treasure trove of fresh girls to fuck.

"AAA AAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA ALLAHU AKBAR!!!" screamed a Muslim Tatar whose brown face was tensed with joy from an unbearable ejaculation inside Miriam. The naked girl was now quietly sobbing in exhaustion as she lay on her back and got flattened under the next Tatar, an older man with a greying beard who soon polluted her lovely little face with frothing slobber as he experienced what was no doubt a very tight pussy. Miriam soon pulled the sperm out of him too. "Allahu Akbar!" he madly screamed before his elder son replaced him. He too would soon get acquainted with the madness of screaming Allahu Akbar upon erupting inside the loveliest Jewish girl in Tyumen.

Both locomotive engineers were present as well. Masturbating as they watched the girls' demise. I wondered which girl was going to feel their beards against her skin.

The forty-something coachman, balding and without his stovepipe hat, was now kneeling down behind Miriam and kissing her sperm-soiled butt! She had looked at me before amid her endless rapes, and she kept looking at me all the while as the coachman bucked her from behind, forcing her cheek to keep rubbing the cold asphalt. Her protruding butt was a sight that would sensually haunt me forever.

"Why are they doing this?" her eyes seemed to tell me as the coachman uttered a litany of moans and gave her his load.

"I've entered inside her like in butter! Like butter! Inside the little Jewish tramp!" the coachman said, all in sweat under his cloak as he got up from his crime. This while Esther her sister was being used between two hobos, one of whom shot his semen all over her face while the other was breeding her from behind and commenting on her "cute little Jewish ass".

"Aaahh! Can't believe it! She's aaaahhh so tight! So tight!" Rodionov uttered as he kept up his out-of-control barrage of strokes inside Agnès, who instinctively wrapped her legs around Rodionov's black-uniformed figure and began to moan with unbridled fury under him as he kept feeding her with his ever-renewed strokes and her little head kept bobbing in response, while she uttered ever-louder moans out of her ajar mouth.

Rodionov kissed her and he shivered all over as he erupted inside her... "Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnhhhggh..." And she shivered as well, climaxing hard as her badly bruised husband watched in horror upon coming to.

Rodionov looked at me and nodded at the train as he pulled out of Agnès. I nodded back. It was time to go.

After both locomotive engineers had taken their deep pleasure out of Miriam, after the venerable-aged conductor had given his old man's pudding to young Esther, Dmitri and I along with Boris, Yuri and Oleg were finally able to fetch them and get them to feed some fuel inside the locomotive's belly.

As the train began to steam, I heard another Tatar as he relieved himself.

"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!"

"Nooo! Not a Muslim!" cried Agnès, who seemed to have lost her French amid this press of West Siberians and Tatars.

We finally left the orgy behind us as the train was set in motion by the steaming locomotive that was manned by a pair of wide-smiling bearded engineers. They were like the Devil's uncles.

I went to the restaurant car and looked by the open window while the train got moving.

The last thing I saw was Miriam and Agnès, both naked and kneeling next to each other, forced to kiss one another amid a circle of naked men, one of whom was comically wearing the husband's stovepipe hat as he took Agnès by the hair and, with his hand holding the proverbial stick of life, he showered her face with hot sperm while three or four other men did likewise for Miriam, with some leftover for Agnès's fashionable hair. The men's screams of glee were so loud I could hear them as the train left the station.

"AAAAAAHH GOOD LORD!"

"ALLAHU AKBARR! ALLAHU AKBAR-rrrrrrrrhhh!"

"By the All-Mighty God! The Jewish girl!"

Tyumen was a fascinating hub of religions.


*** TO BE CONTINUED ***

Note: Serfdom in Russia was abolished on March 3, 1861 (February 19 in the Old Style calendar), by Tsar Alexander II through the signing of the Emancipation Manifesto. This being said, the word "serf" remained in use in language to refer to poor peasants who were in fact serfs since they didn't have the money to travel.

A hansom...

[Lucius]

Tyumen is fucked, literally as well as metaphorically.

[HistBuff]

Tyumen is fucked, literally as well as metaphorically.

Thanks for commenting, @Lucius