Copyright (c) 2013,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Thursday, December 19, 2013

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: thecomm1.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com


 

story_codes: MM+/gggg (8-12), non-cons, semi-cons, cons

story_intro: Awakened in the middle of the night by an urgent phone call, an aging former KGB man reflects on past events of his life, many of them carnal encounters with young girls, as he prepares to deal with this newest crisis.

story_language: English





The Commissar, part 1

Written by madvlad


	Although Nikolai was sleeping deeply, he answered the telephone before the harsh echo of the first ring finished bouncing off the walls. It was a talent of survival from nearly all the decades of his life. In the darkness, he spoke little - single words and grunts - letting the party on the other end do most of the talking.

	"Have a car pick me up in exactly one hour," he broke in, finally stringing together a complete sentence. "Have everybody meet, but I need to speak with you alone, first, Alexei."

	Despite the inkiness of the room, Nikolai set the receiver back in its cradle perfectly. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, finding the slippers without touching colder carpet. Having lived in an era where trust and assumptions could lead to bad ends, Nikolai believed in preparing for everything and having complete knowledge of his surroundings. He would not trust his eyesight if he was awoken suddenly and made no assumption there would be light to find what he needed; hence his fluid motions in the dark.

	It had been a restful sleep with a pleasant dream, so Nikolai was annoyed at its interruption. He grunted, feeling the urgency in his bladder. If the phone hadn't woken him, the effects of his enlarged prostate would have. 

	He stood and shuffled off to the bathroom. It had been a pleasant week in his dacha to the west of Moscow. On the first night, he had celebrated his seventy-seventh birthday with a group of old friends. The group was smaller than the last time he had bothered to attend a birthday party - his seventieth. But he was not morose in the least. To have lived this long was nearly a miracle for him and his old companions considering the careers they had taken. Hell, that he survived to adulthood was an accomplishment considering he had turned seven during the Battle of Stalingrad. 

	The artillery barrages of the advancing Germans and the responding counterattacks had reduced the city to rubble punctuated by twisted, burnt-out towers of ruined buildings. Now troops on both sides fought in small-scale but brutally fierce battles. Young Nikolai was on his own, his father gone to fight the Nazis somewhere else and his mother, sister, and grandmother burnt or crushed somewhere in the gray ash of what had been their apartment building.

	Although he had grieved at first, the boy didn't find this remarkable anymore as there were a great many orphans now in Stalingrad. What he knew now was to stay alert of anything changing or new in his surroundings, keeping hidden in the sewers, craters, and other tunnels and trenches the war had produced. His small size allowed him access to places the soldiers were not even aware of and it was amazing how much food he could scavenge.

	Without a family, he decided to adopt a group of Soviet soldiers. Since his father - wherever he may be - also wore the uniform, Nikolai decided they were now his relations. The men did not have time to play with children and would have chased him off but for the bread and canned sardines he had brought. They soon learned that their little volunteer was quite adept at finding both food and creative ways to move about unseen, so he was semi-officially recruited by the major in charge, a man named Vasily. 

	The boy quickly learned to stay quiet but pay attention to the men so that he could readily respond to a request for food, carry a message to another group, or guide a scout or sniper to the location they needed. Although too small to handle a gun, he never stayed too far behind the men when they engaged in firefights. This was common enough as it was not unusual for soldiers of the opposing sides to occupy different floors or rooms of the same building.

	When Field Marshall Paulus surrendered his depleted invading forces in early 1943, Vasily was soon ready to leave. He explained to Nikolai that he was not like the regular army but was part of the NKVD, the national security force. Vasily had taken a genuine liking to the boy and also saw in him tremendous potential. The war had made children grow up and Vasily did not wish to see such potential become stagnant in a state-run orphanage. So he sent the boy to live with relatives, keeping touch with him and visiting when he could. 

	Nikolai followed the war and all events afterward, reading voraciously. From overhearing conversations Vasily and others had, he became very aware that what the state reported and what really happened were two different things. When he mentioned this one night with Vasily, the man laughed but also gave him an admonishment.

	"It is the truth, but never say that in public. The truth can lead to cries of treason. Only let others know what you know in small, selective parcels. Do you understand?"

	Eleven year-old Nikolai looked at his mentor with a cool gaze and only shrugged. Vasily roared with laughter and smacked the boy on the shoulder. 

	"Still a fast learner, I see!"

	Nikolai did learn fast. He saw Vasily's branch of the NKVD become renamed and reformed numerous times. At sixteen, he added college studies to his own curriculum. He was still in school in January of 1954 when Vasily arrived one day and told him he was done there. 

	"You will learn more in the outside world, now. I don't think those moldy old men have anything useful left to teach you. These are fast-changing times."

	Nikolai knew they were. Josef Stalin had died the previous year, followed months later with the execution of Laventriy Beria, the head of state security. Vasily explained that he was now a colonel in what was called the KGB and wanted Nikolai to be his aide.

	The young man was excited and proud to be a part of something new and bold. And Vasily's promise of a more far-reaching education in the world would come true many times over.

	Nikolai let out a long breath while he slowly rocked on his feet in front of the toilet. At last the stream began and Nikolai felt the satisfying ease of pressure. He looked down at the withered penis in his hand.

	"Still with me, old friend, eh?" he said to his member. "But like all my other old friends, you're getting slow and nearly useless.

	Erections were few and far between these days and Nikolai hadn't been with a woman or girl in...he cared not to think of that. There plenty of them available - beautiful strumpets masquerading under the title of models - but Nikolai found he lacked the desire, preferring chess and vodka as his primary pleasures.

	"Behold the might of the Soviet Union!" Gregor cried as he aimed his penis upward, creating a strong arc of urine that landed on ground some feet away.

	"Finally," the KGB officer grunted as he watched his flow splatter on the soil. "We've found something Hungary is good for - catching our piss."

	Gregor zipped up and strode back to the car - one of three carrying the KGB entourage, including Nikolai. 

	"Save some for me, you fuckers!" Gregor roared at the line of Soviet tanks racing past, on their way to suppress the uprising in Budapest. Turning to Nikolai, he said, "Are you ready to see some real action, boy?"

	"Of course, Comrade Major," Nikolai replied formally.

	Contemptuous of the younger man's lack of fire, Gregor gruffly ordered the men back in the cars. Despite his quiet nature, there was something under the surface about Nikolai that even Gregor and his brutish instincts recognized as something formidable. It was best, the major decided, to keep the man in his good graces and vice-versa. Soon after, the last of the tanks passed and the three smaller vehicles returned to the road.

	With his childhood experience in Stalingrad, Nikolai was no stranger to combat. And this time, he was even armed, but he was also well aware that one bullet was all it would take to snuff him out amid the vastly superior Soviet forces.

	He had been serving in the KGB for two and half years when the simmering discontent in Hungary had boiled over into full revolution. Vasily accurately predicted that this would cause unrest among dissidents in other Soviet satellites and immediately dispatched undercover teams to root out the agitators.

	However, he knew how being part of the Hungarian clamp-down would be useful to Nikolai, so he assigned him to Major Gregor Sobolev's squad. Although his mentor had told him nothing of the major, Nikolai quickly formed the same opinion of him that Vasily had. The man was a pig who did most of this thinking with his prick.  

	Vasily purposely chose men who worked differently than he did to supervise Nikolai on various assignments. This was done so that his protg would be exposed to various thought processes (though minimal in Gregor's case) and methodologies.

	It was crowded in the living room where the KGB men stood with a middle-aged couple and their youngest daughter. Neither the man nor the woman had ever appeared on any watch list, but in the last week Nikolai's research had identified them as key figures in the Resistance's communication network. They had created much of the encryption codes used. Nikolai joined Gregor and the others on the raid of the apartment, finding several resistance members as well as codebooks. 

	The other prisoners and the codebooks had already been sent on to Gregor's superiors and now Gregor was trying to wrest further information about other cells. So far he had been fruitless with his threats. Now it was time to take direct action - something he enjoyed and excelled at. 

	"What's your name?" he asked the young daughter.

	"Franciska," the youngster said in a trembling voice.

	"And how old are you, Franciska?"

	"Twelve."

	"Twelve, hmm. Are you a virgin?"

	The girl's mouth dropped open in shock at such a rude question. Her father stepped forward before being stopped with a rifle butt in the ribs by one of Gregor's men. The woman sobbed and put her arms around her daughter. Gregor jerked his chin toward the pair and two more men pulled the girl away and threw her onto the dining room table.

	"Franciska was asked a question and did not answer," Gregor announced in a loud, officious manner. "Therefore she is withholding information from the State and must be interrogated."

	When Gregor first laid eyes on the girl, Nikolai suspected that the major would find some reason to "interrogate" her. During Nikolai's short stint with him already, the major had shared many graphic stories of the march to Berlin during the Great Patriotic War and of all the German pussy he had raped - from little girls to great-grandmothers. So none of this here was a surprise and Nikolai merely stood quietly.

	Seizing the front of Franciska' dress with his ham-like hands, Gregor ripped it open from neck to waist. The girl's breasts had begun to grow, but brassieres were expensive and difficult to find for girls this young in Eastern Europe. The small, pink-tipped mounds quivered as Gregor tugged on the ruined dress, completely tearing it from the girl. 

	Gregor reached forward and grabbed each tiny breast, twisting them until the girl cried out. This increased his excitement and he practically leapt onto her, attacking her titlets with his mouth and chewing on them ravenously. By the time he was done, her buds were covered in teeth marks with the occasional bead of blood in various places. 

	With one jerk of his hand, he shredded the girl's panties. Franciska tried back up on the table, moving away from the Soviet major as she gibbered for mercy. Although she was inexperienced, she could not mistake the lustful gleam in Gregor's eyes for anything else as he stared at the delicate mound between her legs. It was still that of a child, with only the lightest of down starting to sprout above the top of her virgin slit. 

	"Behold the might of the Soviet people!" Gregor crowed again as he pulled his cock from his trousers, repeating his phrase from the roadside earlier.

	Nikolai idly wondered if Gregor said that every time he undid his fly. 

	Franciska was shouting and shaking her head as Gregor climbed on top of her. He quieted her with a hard smack to the head that left her dazed. Aiming his erect dick at the girl's cleft, heaved himself into her. Franciska's eyes bulged as she was brutally entered. 

	His low opinion of Gregor notwithstanding, Nikolai was rather intrigued as he watched the man's engorged prick as it was driven into the preteen's vagina. Nikolai was more modestly endowed and would have thought he would have had trouble getting inside Franciska's small pussy. But apparently cunts were quite capable of stretching and soon the major was rutting inside the weeping girl. His thick cock was quickly stained with red each time it slid out from the girl's stretched twat lips. When Gregor rammed it back in, the fluids were wiped onto the girl's bare skin, creating thin crimson streams on her crotch.

	Gregor bellowed as he came, triumphantly conquering his young Hungarian subject with his vastly superior Russian seed. As he climbed down form the table, copious amounts of bloody semen poured from the twelve year-old's battered cunt. Wiping his dick on the mother's dress, Gregor was still panting as he nodded toward the stunned girl.

	"As penalty for withholding the status of her virginity, I have confiscated her cherry in the name of the Soviet people. I shouldn't be surprised if Comrade Khrushchev himself awards me the Order of Lenin's Cock when I return."

	The other men laughed and the next one got onto the table to enjoy the fruits of the invasion. Nikolai maintained a stoic faade as one man followed by another forced themselves on the young girl, her young form looking pitiful beneath their heavy bodies.

	He didn't want to watch the rape, so he scanned the room carefully - an exercise that Vasily had taught him. Later, Nikolai would test himself, trying to recount every detail of the kitchen and dining room; the light brown upholstery of the chairs with the peculiar weave of the fabric, the scarred metal rim of the clock on the kitchen wall that looked like it might have been grazed by a bullet in the last war, the wood paneling of the kitchen cabinets and how one door's shadow on the wood beneath it seemed slightly larger.

	Nikolai stopped, refocusing on the cabinets. From the angle of the ceiling light from above, each door had a slight shadow beneath it. But one door's shadow was barely noticeably larger. With a quick stride, Nikolai strode into the kitchen. Comparing the door in question with its neighbor, Nikolai quickly determined that the shadow was larger because the door was thicker. He tugged on the door, easily pulling it from its hinges.

	"Nikolai!" Gregor called. "If you're that horny, you can have the girl next. But don't fuck the cabinet - it will give you splinters!"

	The other men were laughing, even the one with his prick buried in Franciska's bleeding cunt. Nikolai put the door on the table next to the door and with his knife worked at a seam where the cheap wood paneling was joined. The panel popped out, revealing a thin layer of papers spread evenly inside the door. 

	Gregor snatched one and scanned it. He didn't know what it was, but knew that it must be something valuable if it was hidden like it had been. 

	"What do you think it is?" he asked Nikolai.

	"Names, locations, that sort of thing," Nikolai replied. "The number pattern looks like some of what we found in the code books. I'm sure headquarters will be able to decipher it now that they have the codes."

	"Excellent!" Gregor cried, slapping the young man's back so hard that Nikolai nearly lost his breath. "Get the happy couple here and let's head to HQ. Nikolai, you've earned your pay tonight. Have fun with the little Hungarian whore and then give her to the tank men. I doubt they'll be much of her in the morning."

	Gregor and the others left, herding Franciska's parents with them. Nikolai turned and looked at the girl. Thick fluids were still leaking from her pussy, thickening as they dried on the table beneath her. Her modest breasts were already starting to bruise from Gregor's dental attack. Turning her head, she looked at the quiet young man with a wounded look in her eyes.

	Nikolai's eyes looked back at him in the bathroom mirror from beneath the white shaggy brambles of his eyebrows. They were an old man's eyes that had seen so much.

	"I have seen Kandinsky and his gang come here plenty of times," Nikolai said to the group of teens and children in the shabby caf. "And we know he uses this place to stow gold bullion. So where is it?"

	It was Nikolai's first return to his old home city of Stalingrad, re-named Volgograd this very year as part of Nikita Khrushchev's program to remove Stalin's stamp on the country. But Nikolai did not recognize the place as it had been rebuilt since the battle that destroyed his childhood along with the old city. 

	Now five years removed from his well-noted successes during the short-lived Hungarian Revolution, Nikolai was newly in command of his own investigation unit. It was a great honor for someone as young as him but he was acutely aware that with great honors came great expectations.

	His unit's first big case involved Igor Kandinsky, a black marketer and smuggler who used the nearby Volga-Don canal and its access to the Volga and Don rivers as links to the ocean and all kinds of smuggling. 

	Kandinsky was guilty of numerous crimes relating to the great good and tranquility of the Soviet people and of consorting with Western intelligence agents - a treasonable offense. Nikolai had dutifully lectured his team on all of the  charges, although, being a student of Vasily, knew that those in the first category were truthfully more of a crime in that Kandinsky hadn't given the correct State officials their cut of the action. The latter charges might actually be real - or at least there was the reasonable risk that the CIA or MI6 might employ underworld types in their activities.

	In any case, it was Nikolai's assignment to catch Kandinsky in the act and he was determined to follow through, if nothing else to keep himself out of hot water. Looking at the group of urchins, he repeated the question.

	"Where is the bullion?"

	When none of the children answered, Nikolai turned to one who appeared to be the youngest; a dirty-faced girl of perhaps ten. Bending down, he looked her straight in the eye and asked, "Where can I find the bullion, little girl?"

	"Maybe you can find it in my ass," she retorted, showing that she had a dirty mouth to match her face as her friends all laughed. 

	Nikolai made a motion to his men, who withdrew their pistols and pointed them at the kids. The youngsters fell silent. Nikolai knew he still had to be careful as they were in a rough part of town. Any gunshots may bring the local criminals their way and regardless of their authority, the KGB men would be outnumbered and their bodies would never be found afterward.

	If Nikolai had any concerns about his reputation to date, it was the whispers he occasionally heard that while he was very intelligent, he wasn't one to get directly involved in the dirty work. It was something that, in a dark recess of his mind, occasionally sprang like a weed, threatening to choke his thoughts with self-doubt until he mustered the discipline to put it back in its place.

	He did wonder if, despite his childhood experience, he did have the nerve to do whatever it took to get the job done.

	That night in Budapest, Nikolai had disobeyed Gregor's order. Using rags and water, he cleaned Franciska as well as he could before helping her into another dress and bringing her to a neighbor's apartment. Out of fear, the neighbor wanted nothing to do with the child of rebels, but Nikolai's uniform and threats were enough to force her to take the girl in. The next morning, he learned that Franciska's parents had been executed.

	Before he left, Nikolai arranged for the girl and two other younger orphans of the aborted revolution to be sent back to Russia. One of Vasily's old friends and his wife had lost their children to a Nazi bombing raid years before. While nothing could replace those they had lost, they were now sufficiently settled after all of these years to remake a family of sorts. They could have gone through official state agencies to adopt Russian orphans, but they were more comfortable keeping everything within their own extended KGB "family".

	Nikolai had thought the matter settled until he received a letter six months later addressing him as "Uncle Nikolai". Franciska had been taught Russian in school when she had lived in Hungary and was now fluent after being immersed in it in her new home. 
Vasily's friend was more than happy to let the girl visit her "uncle" and savior whenever she wanted.

	Unsure of how to entertain a child, Nikolai had taken her on a picnic in the woods outside of Moscow, taking advantage of a fine spring day. Franciska was mostly quiet during their lunch, but clearly had something on her mind. As Nikolai began to gather everything to leave, she finally spoke up.

	She told him how some of her new friends at school had kissed boys and were looking forward to going to dances and other outings with them. Franciska had read some forbidden romance novels her adoptive mother had stashed and desperately wanted to feel those same things and be happy about boys like her friends. Several novels spoke of women who were rescued by men whose love had also emotionally rescued him.
Nikolai was not a romantic person and was about to tell Franciska he knew little of those things when he turned to her and saw that her blouse was unbuttoned.

	"Please, Uncle Nikolai?" was all she said as she offered herself to him.

	He stood speechless as the girl removed her shoes, socks, long skirt, and panties, standing nude before him. Her breasts had healed and were a little larger than he remembered, though still quite small - about the normal size for a girl two months short of her thirteenth birthday. There was more down growing on the top of her mound, although the sleek labia were still bald. 

	She was far too young according to the laws of his society, but he wanted her all the same. He pulled off his clothes and gently pulled her to the picnic blanket. Seeing her tremble, he took his time, kissing her mouth (her first "real" kiss, she told him later). He cupped her breasts, kissing each barely pubescent mound all over before sucking the nipple to full stiffness.

	As he tasted her breasts, he explored her vagina with his fingers. He was tentative at first as Franciska jerked with his first few touches. But she steeled herself, and let his hand stay. The girl relaxed, enjoying Nikolai's mouth on her body while he massaged her sex. 
Nikolai was no great lover, but at least he understood some of the things that helped arouse a woman and the twelve year-old was no different as he caressed her inside her mound and sought out her clitoris.

	When the girl was ready, he eased her down, kissing her mouth again while he fumbled to get himself aligned just right. He moved into position, holding himself up on his hands as he carefully entered her. Franciska whimpered at first, but held his waist, pulling him into her. Quickly enough, they each lost their remaining inhibitions as they coupled in long, rocking strokes. Franciska groaned and raised her legs, wrapping them around his waist as Nikolai plumbed the warmth of her succulent quim. Even after he came, Franciska was reluctant to remove her legs for a few minutes.

	After that, they met regularly over the years, with Nikolai delighting in watching her mature physically and emotionally. He had studied and practiced the techniques of female arousal using the services of the streetwalkers ubiquitous in very city around the world, regardless of its government's position on the rights of these members of the urban proletariat. And he used his learned skills to surprise and satisfy her.

	He had been able to make Franciska climax shortly after her thirteenth birthday. And although she had boyfriends in school, she always looked forward to her visits with her Uncle Nikolai.

	There were no such warm thoughts with this little snot in the Volgograd slum. Nikolai fixed her with an emotionless gaze while she stared back in defiance.

	"Maybe I can find it up your ass, eh?" he said. 

	He jerked her by the arm and tossed her onto a nearby table, sending dirty cups and saucers crashing to the floor. There was a loaf of black bread with some dubious looking butter on another table. Ignoring the bread, he took the butter and pulled out his cock. Once he was lubed, he pulled the girl's dress up and tore her panties away with a move that Gregor would have applauded. Her smooth little cunt looked tempting, but Nikolai wanted to stay in the moment.

	The girl's eyes grew wide, connecting her sudden nakedness with the KGB man's buttered prick. Nikolai grabbed her thighs and pushed them forward and down, practically folding the girl in half. She writhed and started to beg, but it only awoke something dark inside of him. 

	Jamming his prick head against the impossibly small pucker of the girl's asshole, Nikolai bore down on the orifice with all of his might. One of his men clapped a hand over the girl's mouth while holding the gun with the other. The struggling ten year-old's anus gave way and she howled against the man's palm as Nikolai brutally tore into her ass. 

	Her innards were soft and hot, pressing against his greasy member while her sphincter tried to throttle it. He stabbed at her ruthlessly, bruising her rectal tissues while he taught her about authority figures. The other men nodded grimly, proud at their boss' show of strength as he forcefully sodomized the crying child. 

	"Here's some bullion for you now, you little bitch," he snarled as he spewed his jism inside the little girl's ripped ass. 

	When he was done, he wiped himself clean using the girl's face and hair. Jerking his thumb at the violated child, he spoke to his men.

	"You may want to check her for bullion in other places."

	His six men took the girl in twos, raping her until she was weeping blood and cum from every hole. While clutching at her torn pussy, she tried to speak, choking on some semen she had coughed up while her upper lip was already swelling. 

	"Lock Number Eight," she wheezed. "Igor uses an access tunnel. There's a green tool shed and a manhole cover next to it. That's how you get in."

	Nikolai warned the other kids what would happen if they spoke of this visit. One look at their friend, battered and bleeding on the table convinced them of the men's will to follow through.

	That night, Igor Kandinsky was caught in the tunnel with a cache of gold, rubles, American dollars, and more than a thousand cases of western cigarettes. There were no foreign agents to be found, but it was now clear that Nikolai was a man to be reckoned with in all respects.

	Nikolai adjusted his tie, setting it just right. Then he put on his suit jacket, followed by a scarf, heavy overcoat, and fur hat. The snow that had started the previous day had stopped, but a stiff wind promised a biting chill when he stepped outside. He certainly knew how to stay warm.

	
"Your apartment is so warm, Comrade Dobrynin," the woman said to Nikolai as she delivered the laundry she had done for him.

	"Yes, these extra electric heaters help," said Nikolai. "It seems that your Warsaw winters sometimes try to rival those we have in Moscow."

	It was Nikolai's second posting overseas, the first being in Angola a few years earlier. That had been a miserable experience with tribal warfare and civil war just as Nikolai had arrived and the country declared its independence from Portugal. Now he was back in Europe three years later, listed as a cultural attach on the Soviet embassy rolls. Under the cover of his assignment, Nikolai was surprised to find that there were actually real cultural attachs - he had always assumed that the title was a euphemism for intelligence officers worldwide. 

	Gaining experience outside of the mother country was an interesting time for Nikolai who once again delighted in comparing what was happening around the globe to what Tass, the State's media agency, was authorized to report. There was never a shortage of things to report on - authorized or not. 

	The previous decade had seen a young American president stare down Khrushchev over a line of missiles in Cuba only to be shot by gangsters or the CIA in Texas. (Nikolai was pretty sure it hadn't been the KGB pulling the trigger there, but one could never be too sure.)  The following year, it was a bloodless event (to everyone's surprise) that sent Khrushchev packing, replaced by the vainglorious but reasonably able Leonid Brezhnev. 

	Another American president had proved to be a match for Brezhnev, strengthening ties with China as a way of forcing the Soviet Union to pay closer attention to their eastern regions. Then the president had somehow been removed from office after sending agents in to gather potentially damaging information on his political enemies. Nikolai didn't understand the ruffled feathers over that. The actions that the Americans had indignantly dubbed the Watergate Scandal were what Nikolai thought of as just another routine Tuesday night.  

	The woman, Malina, looked enviously around Nikolai's apartment. Nikolai noted her expressions as she took in the amenities he had, courtesy of a near-limitless expense account he had from the embassy. Having done a background check on a neighbor who offered to clean his apartment and do his laundry, he learned that she was a recent widow living in an apartment his size but with six children. Not that he was unfeeling, but he was not about to offer her any extra help beyond her housekeeping services for fear that she would become too dependent on him in her desperation.

	Over the first few months, he had become quite pleased with Malina's work - work she did after her regular job. But the woman was still having trouble making ends meet and he wasn't terribly surprised by her overture to provide "anything else a man away from home might want." 

	She might have been pretty if she wasn't becoming gaunt, worn down by worry and stress, and continuous labor. Nikolai was the perfect gentleman as he politely declined her offer. Flustered, Malina turned her head, a knuckle held between her teeth to keep from crying. Nikolai did not say anything more, trying to spare the woman any further embarrassment. Malina spoke again, unable to meet him in the eyes.

	"I-my eldest daughter is also good at housekeeping and can cook for you. My apartment is too full and if she could stay here...you only pay her to clean and wash clothes. And she could live here and you don't have to pay her to cook or..."

	Now Nikolai was at least interested. Malina looked older than she really was. He hadn't bothered to look at her children's ages on the report he had received on her. Perhaps a young girl to warm his bed would be a boon. 

	It had been years since he'd had sex with Franciska, who was now married to a promising young army officer and had just given birth to a baby girl. They were still quite close, but now with Nikolai as only her benevolent uncle. They were both happy in that relationship, but Nikolai, now in his forties and with a reputation as a ladies man, found himself missing the young smooth body of a very young lover.

	In a noncommittal voice, he said, "Let her come down and we'll see what happens."

	An hour later Nikolai answered the door. A thin, blonde-haired girl with her face heavily made up stood there, clutching a small bag in her hands.

	"Hello, sir," she said gravely. "I am Paulina. Mama said I am to live with you."

	Nikolai steeped aside and bade her to come in. 

	She walked awkwardly into his apartment; something he attributed to nerves until he saw her feet were in high-heeled shoes too large for them. Malina was obviously trying to make the girl appear older than she was. Nikolai chose to get straight down to business.

	"And how old are you, Paulina?"

	"I can cook and clean and do...anything you want me to."

	"That's nice. And how old are you?"

	"Ten," she said quietly.

	That explained her utter lack of bust, not to mention the absence of any womanly curves that Nikolai could see under her plain dress.

	"And are you skilled in bed?"

	"Oh yes, I can...I can..."

	"You can - what?"

	"I-I can do what you tell me to," she said, her face turning red as she stared at the floor. 

	Tears were making the mascara that Malina had applied run down in streaks. Nikolai shook his head - this would not do.

	"Then I will tell you what to do," he said. "First, clean all of that paint from your face. And take off those ridiculous shoes - you'll break your neck."

	"I'm sorry," Paulina bawled. "I am not good for you."

	"Nonsense," Nikolai said, giving her shoulder a comforting rub. "I have no problem with a ten year-old girl. "But you should look your age. Now go."

	He gave her bottom a light swat and sent her on her way to the bathroom. When she later emerged, she was in her stocking feet and her face was well-scrubbed. Nikolai gave her a friendly smile.

	"Much better. Now, please remove your dress."

	Paulina shivered but did as she was told. Now in just her socks and panties, she presented herself to him. Nikolai decided he would have to put some meat on her bones. He could see some of her ribs. There was no development on her bony chest - her nipples flat and small. She wore a small cross of cheap metal around her neck - Poland was rife with people who clung to the Catholic faith despite the State's disapproval. 

	Next he had her take off her socks, leaving just the grayish-white panties that had been washed so much that they hung loosely on her shapeless hips. She looked at them and back at Nikolai with fright in her eyes. But Nikolai motioned with his finger. Weeping quietly, Paulina slid her last piece of modesty down her skinny legs. When she stood straight again, she had her hands clapped to the sides of her legs while she stared at a point on the wall to the left of Nikolai. Unlike the rest of her body, the girl's hairless pussy had a little extra flesh; the small, cleft mound bulging ever so slightly at the junction of her thighs.

	Paulina's lack of development and nervousness enhanced Nikolai's excitement. Here was a little Catholic virgin displaying her naked body so her new master could use her to his pleasure. It made Nikolai feel like one of the all-powerful tsars of old. Not a proper thought for a loyal agent of the Soviet Union, perhaps. But he was horny for some cunt and in that regard, nearly all men were equal.

	Nikolai led the girl to the bedroom and made sure she watched him as he undressed. The trepidation on her face when she saw his erection was amusing, but he did not want to frighten her. He sat on the bed and had him stand before him. With practiced hands, he caressed her, feeling her tremble at his touch at first. But he was gentle and he saw her relax. 

	"You have good skin," he murmured truthfully.

	"Thank you," she squeaked as his hands found her rump.

	Nikolai mentally corrected his earlier assessment that Paulina's little cunt was the only place she had spare flesh. Her buttocks were small and firm, but they molded to his grip quite nicely when he squeezed them. 

	He slid hid hand over her ribs, moving them to the front until he found her nipples. Using this thumbs, he rubbed them until he felt their automatic reaction. Paulina's breathing quickened as her nipples sprang to life. 

	Then her breaths became ragged as the strange Russian man her mother told her to obey took her nipples in her mouth, exciting her in a way she couldn't imagine. For some reason, she felt an odd stirring inside her belly - no, in that place between her legs that Mama had spoken of as the place men desire. The ten year-old didn't understand such things but now felt the need to be touched there. 

	She slid a hand toward her crotch, wondering that she would feel like on the outside with all of those feelings bubbling below the surface. Then she froze as she encountered the man's hand reaching for the same place. How had he known?

	His first touch was like lightning; so odd in that she had never felt such a thing when she bathed and washed herself there. His calloused fingers closed over her smooth mound, pinching it lightly in a way that made her want him to pinch harder. His roughened finger tips swirled all over her cunny (a word she had heard from other girls), learning the shape of her mons and the rounded sides of her slit. 

	A finger reached into her where she was burning up. It moved in and then rubbed over on the inside. How had she become wet there? Somehow, his finger was drawing the liquid from inside her secret place and covering her with it, as if preparing her for...what? A touch near the top of her slit made some part of her feel stiff and achy there. His mouth left her chest and she did not protest when he guided her onto the bed and parted her legs.

	She saw his huge member as he placed it against her pussy. Now she grew nervous despite the strange wanting in that place. He seemed amused when she fingered her small cross for comfort.

	"If it would make you feel better, you can pray while I do this, Nikolai said.

	Paulina nodded gratefully and began to recite the Lord's Prayer while the man rubbed his head into her slit, moistening himself with her hot drippings. When she reached "amen", he thrust forward, spearing the child's virgin cuntlet. Paulina yelled out when her hymen was pierced, but the pain faded as Nikolai rutted his way deeper into her, making her inexperienced pussy spread to take him.

	Nikolai urged her to keep praying while he fucked her. The little girl chose to keep repeating the Hail Mary while his big cock thrust in and out of the snug, gooey grip of her deflowered cunt. Nikolai had no personal feelings either way toward the Church, but he got a charge out of this like he hadn't had before. Heaven for now was fucking this little ten year-old, pimped by her mother and with her bald cuntlet freshly opened, while she recited her prayers. Paulina's sweet, childish voice was punctuated by grunts and whines of a sexual nature between the holy words she spoke. 

	When it got to the point where she was unable to speak anymore, Nikolai moved his cock against her in such a way that pushed her that last little way toward her first orgasm. The communion was complete when Nikolai came explosively inside her, seeding her prepubescent womb. 

	As they lay side by side after Nikolai rolled off, he stroked Paulina's flat tummy in lazy circles with his hand. 

	"I like hearing you pray," he remarked.

	"Thank you...uh... What do I call you?"

	Nikolai thought for a moment and grinned.

	"Please call me Uncle Nikolai."

	Nikolai grunted as he felt his penis try to stir as he waited by the front door of his dacha. Of course, the car Alexei sent for him would wait as long as he needed, but he preferred to be ready first, walking out as soon as it pulled up. It made the underlings wonder if they had been late and were keeping the great man off his schedule. The car wasn't due to arrive for another five minutes, allowing Nikolai to reflect on his time in Warsaw.

	Still beset by money problems a few months after sending her daughter to Nikolai, Malina decided to return to Gdansk where she had plenty of siblings who worked in the shipyards. The pay would be better and she would have help in providing and caring for her brood. When given the choice of going with her mother or remaining with Nikolai, Paulina had chosen to stay in Warsaw. Nikolai was delighted and Malina understood - was even relieved that her daughter was getting a better life. 

	Nikolai remembered Gdansk well during his time there. He never sought our or encountered Malina when he went to visit. His trips there were of an official nature, investigating troubling reports of an unauthorized workers groups called Solidarity. Ultimately, it was the Poles who were responsible, but he was sure to keep Moscow informed.

	Back in Warsaw, Paulina was an excellent housekeeper and was an even better bed warmer. She still attended church every Sunday but delighted in all of the pleasures she received from Nikolai. He wasn't sure if she felt any conflict between her religious teachings and the carnal delights they shared. It was something she never spoke of and he was perfectly content to leave it at that.

	The formerly timid little girl was quite adventurous when it came to sex, never shying away from anything he proposed. Intrigued by the idea of having him in her mouth, the ten year-old was soon adept at taking him down her throat. More than once, he would come up behind her when she was busy in the kitchen, tossing her forward onto the counter top or table while he pulled her dress up. She never wore panties at home and he would soon be bathing his cock in her slick little cunt.

	One day as he had her bent over the table, he noticed the bread and butter she had laid out. It reminded him of the foul-mouthed little girl from all those years ago in Volgograd; the one who learned to watch what she said to KGB officers. Paulina was wriggling her pert bottom, waiting to get her pussy skewered. Nikolai decided to take a different route and reached for the butter.

	Paulina squawked when she felt him pressing in on her asshole. Stroking her back, Nikolai told her to relax and, after some reticence, she complied. The girl moaned softly as she felt her anus slowly expand. Nikolai took her hand and slid it partially under her body. Paulina understood his intent and moved it the rest of the way and planted a finger into her dripping pussy. She masturbated fiercely as the huge presence of the man's prick slowly and relentlessly penetrated her bowels. 

	As Paulina panted wildly, Nikolai worked up a fast rhythm of long strokes sawing in and out of her rectum. The clusters of nerves in her anus responded to the hard friction, making the tight ring go into spasms around Nikolai's cock. The ten year-old's climax hit as her guts were buttered even more by the hot surges of semen invading her.

	A couple of years into Nikolai's posting, Poland's Solidarity movement caught fire. There were those in Moscow who wanted to clamp down on it like they had done before in Hungary and Czechoslovakia, but Brezhnev's grand adventure into Afghanistan had the signs of a quagmire and a more hard-line attitude from America's cowboy president, made such maneuvers riskier than before. Nikolai was kept busy as Poland was placed under virtual martial law by their Kremlin-backed leader. But he always had time to enjoy the fruits of Paulina's ripening body.

	When Brezhnev died, Nikolai was heartened to see Yuri Andropov, an old KGB hand, succeed the greedy old bear. This also meant changes within the KGB ranks and Nikolai thought about plans for Paulina should he be reassigned elsewhere. But the changes instead led to his promotion as Warsaw station chief and he enjoyed several more years there. 

	The sole dark spot during this period came with the news that Franciska's husband had been killed in Afghanistan, the victim of a mujahideen rocket. Nikolai had been able to fly back to Moscow to comfort the widow and her small daughter - but only as an adoptive uncle, leaving their sexual relationship in the past.

	A sweep of headlights told Nikolai his car was arriving. He nodded to the woman who served as his housekeeper (she was in her late fifties and her only bedroom duties were cleaning it) and stepped out into the night. His growing erection was quickly snuffed by the cold as he walked the short distance to the car whose driver had scrambled out to open the rear door. 

	The engine idled quietly, only hinting at the true strength it could provide when called upon. There was a lesson in that, Nikolai noted. Men should act in the same way but all too often had to run helter-skelter, screaming and bullying to prove who had the biggest dick.

	As he settled into the back seat, Nikolai noted that the car was a Mercedes, a very fine one at that. In the old Soviet days, he would have been sitting in a ZiL limousine and not a foreign vehicle. But times changed and one adapted or else.

	Times were changing and Nikolai, recently back in Moscow in his new assignment, was adapting. Paulina was back in Warsaw, eager and ready to enter college in the fall. Yet another "niece" had grown up and would seek her way in the world.

	The old guard was disappearing, especially those who held the title of General Secretary. Andropov had only lasted fifteen months before a combination of ailments took him away. His replacement, Konstantin Chernenko, barely served for more than a year before he joined his predecessor as his coffin was sealed in the Kremlin wall. Now they were a year into Mikhail Gorbachev's rule. The new man was younger, more dynamic, and full of new ideas. While others opined about those ideas, Nikolai did not pass judgment, preferring instead to remain mentally agile and ready to adapt.

	Newly promoted and ensconced in a fine office, Nikolai was interrupted one afternoon by a curious aide who announced that he had a visitor who needed to see him regarding an urgent matter. The nature of Nikolai's rank was that now had frequent visitors with urgent matters. Without bothering to look up from a report he was perusing, he waved his hand to tell the man to usher the visitor in. Nikolai was still reading when he heard the padded foot steps on the carpet and then the door click shut. He kept reading - his visitor could wait.

	"I need your help, Uncle Nikolai."

	Nikolai jerked his head up at Franciska's voice. She approached his desk with her daughter, Svetlana, gripping her hand. The girl was eight, now, and was usually quite bubbly in his presence. But today she had a somber, no, haunted air about her. 

	"Svetlana was attacked," Franciska began without further preamble. "And nearly raped. Some telephone workers nearby heard her screams and raced out into the field where she had been playing. The bastard had her in the tall grass, her clothes ripped to shreds, and he was about to..."

	Franciska broke off, jamming her mouth against her hand; either to keep from crying or vomiting - Nikolai wasn't sure which and wouldn't have blamed her for either. There was no doubt that this had raised the ghosts of her own rape thirty years before. Nikolai knew his own hands weren't clean of rape, particularly with that little girl in Volgograd. But that grimy little sewer rat was on the wrong side of the law and his work had been done in the line of duty. Nikolai had long ago learned how to compartmentalize things that way. Weaker men were those who allowed themselves to be destroyed by their own consciences. 

	"Do they have the man in custody?" Nikolai asked, hoping to help Franciska re-focus.

	"Yes, but nothing will happen to him," she spat, before giving Nikolai the man's name.

	Nikolai's eyebrows rose. The man in question was the son of a high-ranking party official with a history of violence, particularly toward teenaged prostitutes, that had been kept under wraps. Domestic crimes like this weren't under Nikolai's jurisdiction, but collecting damning evidence against powerful people and their families was always in his best interests. 

	"But there's more to it," Franciska went on. "Svetlana will hardly eat and wakes all hours of the night with horrible dreams. The doctors will do nothing because child rape does not exist per State directives."

	"And what can I do for you both?" Nikolai asked.

	"What you did for me," Franciska said quietly. "If you hadn't saved me that night I would have been probably killed. And hadn't been what you were for me later, I would have slit my wrists, taken pills... I need you to show her the kindness of a man or she will never be right. I..."

	Nikolai looked at the little girl at Franciska's side and spoke in a light voice.

	"Svetlana, I have just acquired a dacha just outside the city. How would you like to come and stay with me this weekend?"

	"Is it in the woods?"

	"Yes."

	"There are fairies in the woods. I'd like to meet some."

	"Fairies are hard to find, but you are welcome to look. And you and your mother can have a fine weekend."

	Svetlana turned to look at her mother. Franciska nodded, her eyes red though she smiled for her daughter's benefit. After they left, Nikolai picked up the phone.

	"So the man who hurt me is in jail now? For good?" Svetlana asked that Saturday evening.

	"Yes, and I will see to it that he will never hurt another little girl again," Nikolai replied.

	The man had just been released from the district jail and was cockily walking to his father's waiting car when Nikolai's men swooped in on him. The man was deposited in a dark basement cell of Lubyanka, the KGB headquarters. A variation of the old joke said that the underground cells had the best view of any prison in the world as Siberia could be seen from them. But this man's future lay not in Siberia, but in the bullet currently residing in Nikolai's pistol.

	The party official had been livid, but when Nikolai explained what the son had done, the older man backed off. He changed his tack, going from threatening to reasonable. It was so wearying, he said to Nikolai, being a man of so much responsibility while his no-good son (so unlike his siblings, the old man insisted) did so much harm. 

	Nikolai knew the official's fear were for his own reputation and power. Having an offspring guilty of this could pull the rug - or perhaps the entire floor - out from under him. Nikolai mimicked the man's "reasonable" nature, acting as if he sympathized. Perhaps the young man's tortured existence needed to end, for the good of himself and his own family. And for the sake of the family, such things should be done quietly.

	The official agreed and thanked Nikolai profusely, promising the KGB man that he had just made himself a powerful friend. After the man left, Nikolai mused on his statement about friendship. The old bastard didn't care if his troublesome son was buried and out of his hair. What the official wouldn't like was that Nikolai had some information against him. So Nikolai would be careful, as he always was.

	Completely nude, Svetlana snuggled against Nikolai's bare stomach. He had grown larger around the middle in recent years, more than he would have liked. But he was fifty now and couldn't be expected to have a young man's physique. 

	When Franciska had sent her daughter to Nikolai's room earlier, the girl was only wearing a nightgown. Svetlana knew that Nikolai was going to teach her not to be frightened of a man's touch, but she was still frightened even though her kindly uncle would never hurt her. 

	Nikolai had removed her nightgown before undressing. While regarding the little girl's naked form, his cock had grown erect, just like the man in the field's had done. Svetlana was about to cry when Nikolai carried her into bed and simply held and rocked her. Having just been assured that the bad man was put away for good, Svetlana turned to look up at Nikolai.

	"Are we going to do that thing now?" she asked.

	"We've already begun, my little potato."

	Svetlana always giggled when he called her that. She did feel safe here and she liked how her uncle's large hands felt as they roamed all over her small body.

	Nikolai brought the girl's hands up to her nipples, which he had rubbed to full stiffness. He guided her fingers, instructing her at first before letting Svetlana discover what felt best when she toyed with her nipples. Nikolai had never tired of watching Paulina when she masturbated, which she did frequently for both their entertainment.

	With Svetlana making new discoveries on her chest, he rubbed her soft tummy with one hand while stroking a shapely little thigh with the other. Eventually, he slid his hands together, pulling the unresisting girl's legs wide. 

	Svetlana's hairless mound was nicely swollen in shape, making it the perfect place for the man's caressing digits. He pressed and squeezed her just right, which felt relaxing. But when Nikolai pulled her cunny lips and began to manipulate her inside, the little girl felt her first sensations of arousal.

	Nikolai took his time, letting the child's blooming sexual excitement dictate the place. Svetlana's little body was undulating in a very adult way as her uncle made her sex hot and dripping. Svetlana swallowed hard as Nikolai pulled her up so that his prick could pop up between her legs. Nikolai pulled his member against the moist warmth of her bald snatch. 

	"Are you going to put that in my kitty, now?" Svetlana asked.

	Noticing the girl's reactions, Nikolai offered a suggestion.

	"Yes, but what don't we have you be on top. That way your fat uncle won't be squashing you flat. Although I do like potato pancakes."

	"I'm not a potato!" she giggled as she was lifted and turned in mid air. 

	Then she went quiet as Nikolai's cock made contact with her small pussy. Nikolai held her by the middle, his hands nearly encircling her completely. As he pulled the little girl on to his cock, he whispered for her to be brave. Her dark eyes as huge as saucers, Svetlana nodded and bit her lip as her tender young cunny stretched around the intruding cock head. 

	Knowing there was no delicate way to penetrate her membrane, Nikolai waited until he could feel the resistance against his glans and jerked down. Svetlana yelped as she was pierced and then was quiet as her quim was filled.

	Nikolai watched the child's face as her virgin pussy opened around his prick. He massaged her torso with his strong fingers, comforting her as she was firmly stuffed. When he reached her cervix, he told her to look down.

	"Oh!" was all Svetlana could manage as she gazed at how her soft pussy lips were stretched around the thing halfway inside her. 

	She kept staring as she was lifted and pulled back down, over and over.

	Nikolai's shaft gleamed with fluids - mostly clear but a little tinged with red. The eight year-old's tight cuntlet was perfect for fucking; pulling and sucking on his cock every time she went up and greeting him with juices that bubbled out of her bald mound when he thrust back into her.

	Svetlana's head rolled lazily on her shoulders as she was bounced on Nikolai's cock. The thrusting in her pussy was making her ache and itch in an incredible way. Her blissful drifting was interrupted by the hot burst of semen flooding her diminutive baby maker. 
She was shocked, having no understanding of how babies were made. Likewise, her young organs were nowhere near ready to process what they had just been given. 

	Nikolai wasn't finished yet and moved the little girl's body on his still-hard cock until she came loudly and wetly. As Svetlana went limp, Nikolai levered her torso on top of his, cupping her smooth buttocks while stroking her hair. 

	"You are partly a woman now," he murmured to her.

	"I am?" she said, astonished by the entire process.

	"Yes, but you're still my little potato, too."

	"Uncle Nikolai!" she scolded.

	Nikolai scolded himself in silence for letting his thought keep drifting to lustful interludes from the past. Svetlana was grown and married now with three young boys who all called Nikolai "uncle". So did Paulina's son and daughter, both of whom were in college. Of course none of them knew of the true intimacy their mothers had shared with the old man.

	Nikolai opened his coat, pulling an iPhone from the inner pocket so he could review some data concerning another matter. It was a nice coat, he thought as his fingers brushed against the lining; nicer than even the greatcoat he had worn in the KGB.

	But the KGB was coming apart; disintegrating under the weight of its ambition and failure in the wake of the attempted coup against Gorbachev. Some thought the security apparatus would be buried in the rubble of the former Soviet Union as the member states became their own nations. But there would be another agency as there would always be a need. It would exist under a different name, just as its predecessors did, from the KGB back to Lenin's Cheka and even earlier to the czar's secret police. 

	Nikolai had not been part of the plot. In fact he had helped in undermining it. This was his pragmatism at work; adapting to a world in which his former country had failed to adapt. In the aftermath, he had been asked to stay in even a higher position, but Nikolai had no desire to stay on in a largely ceremonial role to lend credibility to the upstarts that would fill the ranks.

	By the time the new incarnation known as the FSB resided in Lubyanka Square, Nikolai found himself in the private sector. Oligarchs were becoming the new force in Russia, using a mix of international business sophistication, political corruption, and old-style mob tactics to build their empires. Their rise had been bloody, with the weaker or less prepared forcibly joining or being swallowed by the better organizations. 

	Andrei Zulev was one such new lord. Nikolai saw in him the qualities of both leadership and sheer ruthlessness when Zulev had recruited him. Among the other organizations, Nikolai's stock also grew as they respected his ability to balance between force and reason. More than once he had brokered agreements that profited all parties when it looked like all-out war was the only solution. And when others tried to break the peace, Nikolai responded with swift lethalness. 

	Zulev joked during a meeting with other magnates that had there still been a Soviet union, Nikolai would have been named Commissar of Mutual Peace and Profit. The joke became an honorific title, shorted to simply "Commissar", and was used respectfully by allies and rivals alike. Although he showed outward indifference toward the name, he was secretly pleased. And Nikolai didn't mind having another secret to keep. 

	The car slowed and Nikolai put away his iPhone and adjusted his outer garments in preparation to exit. He saw the figure of Alexei, his chief assistant, standing still in the snow and showing no signs of trying to stay warm. Nikolai noted how he refused to let any discomfort be known by others. Yes, the young man showed promise. 

	The car stopped with the muffled crunching of tires in the packed snow near the curb. The handle clicked as Alexei opened the door. Nikolai stepped out, ready to adapt and play the old game once again.

	
TO BE CONTINUED...



madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm





















This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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