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Aleksei’s Apartment, Moscow
January 1st 1929 9:00AM
The floor was hard and cold beneath her knees. Before, in her other life, she might have fidgeted or moved, perhaps even complained. Now all Leona did was kneel as she had been ordered, reveling in her service, her devotion, her worship of Him. A cold draft blew across her body and she fought to control the discomfort.
Across the room Aleksei rested in a chair, watching her submission. She felt honored that he would waste even a moment of his valuable time on her. Thinking back to the party just a few hours before she was amazed that he had spoken to her as an equal. Even before she was his slave she hadn’t been his equal, she was human, so far bellow his magnificence that it made her weak just to think about it now. Thanks to her implant she knew a lot more about him. She knew for example his true form, a form that would have terrified her earlier but which she now understood and accepted. He had held the Aleksei form a lot longer than he had needed just so that he didn’t scare her. Again she felt her heart swell with love. That a God should think of her so fondly as to inconvenience himself. She would thank him with her loyalty and service.
“You may stand and come over here,” Aleksei said, his voice had lost its human quality. All emotion was gone and it had a deepness and darkness to it. The words seemed to cause her very soul to vibrate in response. Shivering with anticipation she stood.
“Thank you Master,” she said in a quiet, reverential tone. You didn’t raise your voice when you were in the presence of a living God.
She walked over to him, head bent in submission, eyes locked downwards so as not to look upon his divine countenance.
“Look at me,” He ordered, his dark tones again finding resonance with her.
She looked up. The being in the chair looked less human than before, more like something wearing Aleksei’s body as a man would wear a suit of clothes. Aleksei’s face looked gray and pale, his skin loose, his face muscles saggy and unused. Only the eyes maintained their intensity, in fact if anything they seemed more striking, liquid darkness seemed to fill them, churning and flowing in response to some internal emotional state.
“Leona what are you?” he demanded.
She swallowed. “A drone Master, a slave, I exist to serve,” she said. She wanted, no she *needed* his approval. Shivering she scanned his face for any sign that her answer pleased him.
She found nothing.
“And how do you serve?” he pressed.
“Through complete obedience, complete loyalty and complete dedication Master,” Leona said. These words were true, she believed them with every part of her being and yet they still sounded strange coming from her lips, just as her nakedness seemed somehow odd. She lowered her eyes submissively.
“Look at me,” Aleksei ordered.
“Yes, Master,” Leona said, looking up at the face of her God. Though the face held no clues, something told her that he didn’t like what he was seeing. She was failing him! Her heart almost broke that her God should find her so unsatisfactory but she was confused as to what she could do about it. Wasn’t she serving him? Wasn’t this what he’d wanted when he put that....thing.... into her brain? What more could she do but be his slave? What other sacrifice would he accept to prove her devotion?
At last he spoke. “To serve me better there are things you will need to understand.” he said, ”First I will need you to be able to function independently to achieve goals that I will set for you. I will also need you to be my agent amongst the unaltered. Look inside yourself Leona. You have been given power undreamed of by your people. Find that power. Embrace it, make it part of yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes Master.” Leona said, suddenly realizing exactly what he had expected of her. Her love for him increased. Her Master wanted her to be more than a slave, he wanted her to be a companion, a partner. She had been called by her God to stand by his side.... Her heart filled with joy.
Leona searched. There in the bottom of her mind she found it. A little egg of darkness. Happily she took it, opened it and added it to herself. As the last shred of her humanity was torn away Leona finally understood..
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Corporation Safe House, Moscow
January 1st 1929 12:20PM
Peter was not having a good day. First that annoying little man had arrested him and then the Russians had kept him shuffling between departments most of the morning. In the end they had concluded that it was a “mistake” and had released him but by then Peter had been left in little doubt that he was no longer welcome in Moscow.
After taking a torturous route to ensure that he wasn’t being followed Peter headed towards the center of the city. The Corporation had decided to situate its safe house in an upmarket part of the city close to Red Square. The site had proved hard to purchase and even harder to keep secret. In a state where everybody was an informer organizations like the Corporation found it hard to operate. Word from the Board was that after the Michaels collection Eastern European operations were to be wound down. Peter sighed, it had been a good run while it lasted. For eleven years Russia had provided the Corporation with a lot of high class product but now the Russian aristocracy was all gone and all that Moscow could offer was pretty peasant girls.
Slipping though the door he was surprised to find no one around. Frowning he headed for the cellar. Once there he headed for the back wall where a set of rickety looking shelves held a collection of bric-a-brac. Pushing a set of concealed catches he swung the shelves aside stepped though into what had originally been one of the house’s root cellars.
His two contacts Valeri and Karl were waiting in the cellar. They were both looking at an object that was standing on a trestle in the corner As he entered they froze and reached for their guns, only stopping when they recognized him. The relief in the room was almost tangible.
“I saw you arrested,” Karl said, rubbing his nose. It was a nervous habit the big Bavarian had picked up somewhere. “I thought you were dead for sure.”
“Da! We were starting to think you had been shot Comrade,” Valeri said. Peter smiled. Valeri was a typical Russian, laconic and fatalistic. His thin rodent like features and overbite had got him the nickname of “The Rat” in the Corporation. As well as being their man in Moscow Valeri was the consummate fixer, able to get almost anything done though his contacts in the black market. Peter knew that Valeri had found out about his release. If the young German had been taken to the Lubyanka Valeri wouldn’t have been here.
The Russian smiled and stood back revealing the object they had been looking over. He gave a theatrical flourish.
“It is done,” he said proudly, “I think you will be pleased.”
Peter smiled. “Excellent! You couldn’t have chosen a better time my friend. The GRU had no proof and couldn’t hold me but I know they suspect something. We have to proceed with the collection soon.”
Peter stepped forward. A long, roughly made wooden coffin was resting on the trestles. The box was crude and unvarnished, an orthodox cross painted on the lid in keeping with old Russian tradition.
Peter ran his hand over the lid. The box looked crude, hardly worth the small fortune he had paid for it.
“Show me the inside,” he ordered.
Valeri nodded to Karl and the two men went to the ends of the coffin, Valeri at the head, Karl at the foot. Together they lifted the lid and swung it aside. Inside the coffin was lined with a few inches of padding, the cover of which was a crude cotton cloth. Wedged inside was the body of a huge man. The figure, dressed in a blue workman’s suit must have been seven feet tall. His hands were crossed over his chest, his eyes closed. Peter moved in for a closer look. First he examined the hands, but they seemed normal and natural. The fingernails were black, the hands themselves covered in mortician’s powder. Satisfied he examined the face. The man was almost bald, a small goatee beard and mustache seemingly the biggest concentration of hair on his head. Again, it seemed that the man’s face had been covered in morticians powder, the flesh colored substance not quite hiding the gray lifeless skin underneath. There was a faint smell of formaldehyde, perhaps a hint of decay.
“Looks a little like Lenin, yes?” Valeri laughed nervously.
Peter smiled, there was a certain similarity, though the figure in the coffin looked a lot more lifelike than the one in Red Square. “It’s amazing,” Peter whispered. The effect was so convincing that he kept his voice down almost like he was in the presence of a real body.
He pointed at the figure’s head. “Wax?” he asked.
“Da,” Valeri said, “the hands too.”
“The embalming smell and the makeup are a nice touch,” Peter said, standing up, “but what happens if someone touches it?”
Valeri laughed, “Do you know anyone who would willingly touch a dead body Comrade?” he asked. “Besides I will be traveling with it. I have a number of peasants I have hired to be grieving relatives. They have orders to provide a convincing distraction should the need arise.”
He patted his pocket. “In addition I have all the transport papers and the death certificate. Our friend here is a certified hero of the revolution, he himself was the first comrade inside the Winter Palace. He came to Moscow to visit Lenin’s tomb and was so overwhelmed that he died. The Leningrad Soviet themselves have paid for his embalming and return so that he may be given a hero’s funeral.”
Peter laughed. “Another nice touch my friend.” He looked down at the coffin. “And the girl?” He asked, “will she be quiet enough?”
Karl laughed, “Judge for yourself. We put Marie in there as a test.”
“Marie?” Peter said, raising an eyebrow, “but she’s claustrophobic?” .
“Exactly!” Karl said, “can you think of a better test?”
Peter strained his ears. Sure enough, he could hear a very faint moaning sound if he held his ear close to the body’s head.
“I can hear her!” he said.
Karl nodded, “She’s almost hysterical in there and you can barely hear it.”
Peter ignored the comment about Marie, she was only a slave after all, but the noise she was making worried him. He raised an eyebrow. “Barely can get you killed in our business,” he said coldly, “what if someone hears the girl?”
Valeri smiled. “I have considered all of this comrade,” he said. “Do not worry. Like I said the wailings of the dead man’s grieving family will drown her cries. It is also likely that the coffin will only be examined on the train where the engine sounds will drown out her little mumbles. If not, I have prepared. Here let me show you.”
He nodded to Karl and the two men reached into the lining of the coffin and released some hidden catches. As Peter watched the whole inside section was lifted clear. It was then obvious that the tall body and its surroundings were nothing but a carefully made effigy of wax and padding. As the shallow tray holding the figure was lifted away Peter stepped forward. The coffin’s large size was explained by the large size of the dummy. However the reason they needed it so large could be seen in the lower layer. Inside the box a bound and gagged girl struggled weakly with her bonds. She was strapped firmly in place in the center of the coffin and surrounded on all sides by several inches of thick, noise deadening padding. Peter let his eyes travel up her body.
She had been tied before she was put inside as Peter could see the cruel cords that bound her ankles and knees. However, these were no longer necessary for every few inches up her body a tight leather strap bound her firmly to the coffin. Peter noted the straps around her ankles, above and below her knees and the broad strap across her upper thighs. Next there came a thick pair of rubber pants, obviously designed as a diaper, then a thick belt fastened around her waist. Peter could see that this belt too was fastened to the bottom of the box. Thick leather mittens covered the girl’s hands and immobilized her fingers. At the tops if the mittens were broad leather cuffs which had been strapped to the waist belt. Wide straps across her chest above and below her naked beasts pinned her torso and a thick leather collar buckled at her throat held her head still.
“Ummm,” the girl complained. Now the effigy was removed her piteous mewings were much louder. Peter ran a finger over the padded leather strap that covered her mouth. Two tubes emerged from the front of the gag. Puzzled Peter traced one down to a rubber bulb, like the ones used on car horns.
Smiling he gave the bulb a squeeze, listening to the muffled whine that rose from the girl. Afterwards the sobs became a little quieter.
“A word of advice gentlemen,” he said playfully, “American women are far more willful and far more vocal than their European cousins. Once Alison is in place pump up her gag to the maximum extent.”
The others laughed and Peter turned his attention to the second tube.
“This puzzles me Comrade,” he said to Valeri, “a second gag?”
The Russian laughed. “Here my friend, allow me to show you. If you wouldn’t mind removing Marie’s blindfold?” Valeri busied himself removing part of the padded liner from the side of the coffin.
Peter turned to the helpless girl. Above the gag her face was covered with a thick leather blindfold and then a strap around her forehead further immobilized her. With her bangs and short cropped black hair only her nose emerged from the mass of black. Peter loosened the strap and removed the blindfold. A pair of large, tortured, brown eyes peered up at him. Marie had been crying which was hardly surprising --it was her claustrophobia that the crew of the Corporation slave ship had finally used to break her.
The difficult French girl had only been seventeen when her parents sent her to Moscow as the ladies maid to a young Russian countess. A few years later, after the revolution, the Countess’ uncle had contracted some men to smuggle his family out of Russia while he fought with the White Russian army against the Bolsheviks. Unfortunately the men he hired had proved to be Corporate agents. The men of the family had been killed, the women stripped, bound and gagged and placed in produce bags. Driven to the local port they had been smuggled aboard a Corporation slave ship bound for the Middle East.
As the ship sailed towards its destination the women were taken and subjected to torture and training. It was said that Marie’s mistress, the young countess, unused to the privations had surrendered almost immediately and had happily sucked the Captain’s cock on her very first day. Marie though, was made of stronger stuff. Peter glanced at her breasts again, noticing her damaged nipples and numerous scars. They had tried everything to make her break. In the end they had damaged her so badly that she was useless for sale. Only by accident had they discovered that she was claustrophobic. They had locked the screaming girl in a small metal box for five days. When she finally emerged she was subdued and slave broken.
For a while she had been given to the crew who had used her in every way imaginable. Peter had been the head of the band that had originally collected her and had taken a keen interest in the difficult girl. One night while drinking with the Captain he had learnt that the crew now had a new girl, again a servant to a captured aristocrat, and that the Captain intended to deep six Marie once he was in open water. Peter had offered to take her, not out of any feelings for her but because his men frequently needed female company. It was rumored that the local prostitutes reported to the Moscow Soviet. Rather than risk any pillow talk he had set up his own private brothel with just one girl, although of course that one girl would do anything you asked....
Peter smiled down at the broken slave and was about to say something when Valeri interrupted.
“Here my friend, see.”
Peter bent over. In one side of the coffin a small compartment was revealed. Inside was a large pig iron weight and another small rubber bulb.
“As you said Comrade there is a risk that the authorities may wish to inspect the coffin someplace quiet and away from the grieving family,” Valeri said. “I have prepared this in response.” He pointed to the weight. “Because of the size of the coffin it’s transport to a quiet place will take a little time to arrange. While this is happening my peasants will stage a small diversion. At that time I will remove this loose nail like so.”
He removed the nail and the weight slid down flattening the little rubber bulb.
“This contains a mixture of one half grain of laudanum mixed with a thin, sticky syrup,” Valeri said with pride. “When the bulb is squashed by the weight, the syrup is forced down the pipe and into the girl’s mouth.”
“Laudanum?” Peter asked frowning, “isn’t that dangerous?”
Valeri laughed. “If the dose was such as to render her unconscious then yes my friend. However it is fast acting and in these doses only makes the victim drowsy.” He pointed at Marie’s flickering eyelids. “You see? She is still awake, but is too heavily drugged to make a sound.” To illustrate he grabbed the bound girl’s nipples and cruelly wrenched them. A murmured complaint came from Marie’s gagged mouth but it was hard to hear. With the dummy in place Peter doubted it would be heard at all.
“Excellent!” Peter said, “You are to make your transport arrangements straight away. I have a plan that should allow us to collect Alison tonight. Free Marie and bring her up with you, I have a job she can do for me. Meet me in the snuggery and I will tell you my plans.”
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Corporation Safe House, Moscow
January 1st 1929 1:33PM
Marie’s gentle tongue carefully caressed Peter’s shaft. The blonde German gave a small moan and thrust forwards signaling to the little slave that he wanted her to take him deeper. He would miss Marie, he decided, two years as the comfort girl on a Corporate slave ship certainly taught a girl all the tricks. He doubted he would find a mouth this talented anywhere else. He sighed, when the section closed he would have to dispose of Marie. It was unfortunate but her torture scars made her unsuitable for sale and no other Corporate facility in Europe needed a live in slave. There was a place he had in mind a few miles outside of Moscow where a shallow grave could go undetected for years. Not that that mattered, there was no official record that Marie was even here and in the ten years since the revolution her family in France would surely have given up on her.
He would give her one last fucking before he shot her, he decided, as a kind of honorable death. Unfortunately the girl wouldn’t enjoy it, her clit had been destroyed during the torture, she got no pleasure from sex any more.
He looked over at his two men. Valeri had already taken his turn while Marie was in the basement recovering from the drug. Karl already had his cock out and ready so that the slave could move on to him the instant she was finished with Peter.
As she deep throated him for the second time, Peter felt the sudden pressure associated with his orgasm. A moment later he flooded the choking slave girl's throat with sperm. He held her head firmly in place, giving her no choice but to swallow. The feeling of power and the girl’s obvious distress seemed to add something to the sensation. He found the orgasm was stronger and longer than usual. Finally he let the choking Marie go. The naked brunette fell backwards, hand on her throat. For a minute she fought for breath. Then, when she had recovered, she slid onto her knees in front of him and lowered her head in submission.
“Master, this slave thanks you for the gift of your sperm. She is unworthy to receive it and hopes that her service was satisfactory?” she said.
Peter smiled. “It was good enough slave,” he lied, “I expect better next time.”
“Yes Sir, thank you Sir,” Marie said.
Peter leant over and slapped her naked bottom. “Get over there and see to Karl you lazy girl!” he said, “otherwise you’ll feel the whip.”
He returned his softening cock to his pants and adjusted his fly as Marie crawled over to Karl and took his erection in her mouth.
“You said you had a plan, Comrade?” Valeri asked.
Peter decided it was time for one of his special cigars, one of the ones given to him as a personal thank you by the uncle of the young countess. Not realizing that the German was plotting treachery the White Russian had made him a gift of a parcel of cigars. Peter had carefully kept them for the next few years, smoking one only when a major victory was certain. Taking the cigar he lit it, puffed a couple of times, then walked over to where an impressive grand piano stood.
“Valeri,” he asked, “is it possible to get this piano restrung and tuned today?”
Valeri frowned, “Da comrade, but why?”
Peter smiled and puffed again, “Last night I was talking to Alison. It transpires the girl is an accomplished pianist and usually practices for a few hours every day. Since we started our travels she has been unable to practice and she expressed an interest in finding a piano somewhere for a few hours.”
“Doesn’t the Intercontinental have one?” Valeri asked.
Peter smiled. “Apparently not,” he said, “I‘ve been told that some loyal army units used the Intercontinental as a headquarters during the revolution. It seems the piano was used as a barricade and never replaced. I‘ve told Miss Michaels that I have a friend in Moscow that has a piano and that I will arrange for her to use it.”
“Clever,” Valeri said, “we get the girl to walk into our own safe house but what of the tenacious Miss Graaf? Won’t she come too?”
Peter tapped the top of the piano. “Of course,” he said, “in fact I’m counting on it.”
Valeri looked confused. Karl was too far gone at that point to notice anything. Marie’s head slid backwards and forwards in a smooth rapid motion. It wouldn’t be long before the big Bavarian came.
Peter sat on the piano stool.
“I will arrange to meet them here at eight,” he said, “I will explain that my friend is out of town but that Marie is his housekeeper and she has asked permission for us to use the piano. We will let Miss Michaels recite for an hour so that everyone is relaxed when the final drama is played out.”
He stood and pointed to the two men.
“At a little after nine, two masked bandits will break in and hold us at gun point. They will tie us up, gag us and ransack the place for valuables. As they leave they will recognize Alison as the American heiress that has been in the newspapers and take her along.”
He turned to Valeri. “The night express to Leningrad leaves when?”
“Ten thirty,” Valeri said.
“What time does it arrive?”
Valeri scratched his head. “Five in the morning,” he said.
Peter nodded. “Ok, “he said, “have your people ready to go tonight. I figure you have about an hour to get Alison into the coffin and the coffin on to the train. Will that be enough?”
“Plenty,” Valeri agreed.
Peter smiled in triumph. “At ten the next morning,” he continued, “Marie, who the bandits will have left bound and gagged in the kitchen, will manage to raise the alarm. The police will find myself and Miss Graaf bound and gagged upstairs. By the time we are reporting her disappearance Alison’s ship will already be sailing. I will be one of the poor victims of this attack and will of course console and help Miss Graaf as she searches for her kidnapped friend.”
“Brilliant,” Valeri exclaimed, “you establish an alibi and direct the police attention to Moscow.” He nodded. “Of course this safe house will be compromised?”
Peter took another puff. “We were going to close it anyway,” he said, “even Conrad Graaf can’t complain, we aren’t kidnapping his daughter, just detaining her for an hour or so.”
Satisfied, the Corporate team made its final plans.
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