These events involving her take place in the early 1980s, when Russia was still in the form of the, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
SEX, SOVIET STYLE
Anastacia Petrova’s Saturday morning blissful sleep was rudely shattered by the hammering on the front door of her, well compared to that of the ordinary Muscovite anyway, quite luxurious apartment. “Who the hell could that be?” she asked herself as she slowly rose from her slumbers. Slipping on her champagne-coloured satin dressing gown, part of the set that included the nightdress she wore, with both items a gift from her English boyfriend; she ambled to said door, unlocked it and began the process of opening it fully in order to answer her own earlier question.
When a sudden shove from outside took her completely by surprise, forcing the door open and causing Anastacia to stumble backwards and soon lose her footing, falling in the shape of a rather undignified heap onto the floor. The initial feeling of anger within her rapidly became replaced by one of fear as two VERY big and burly males simply stepped into her flat, completely uninvited, both of them dressed in the uniform of the dreaded K.G.B. But if their entrance caused her some large degree of trepidation, completely understandable, that was absolutely NOTHING compared to the very REAL fear, terror even, that took hold within her when the final member of the group, the sound of heals signifying that this person was female, entered into Anastacia’s home.
This woman also wore the uniform of the Soviet police agency, but hers and the insignia displayed upon it, identified the very real fact that this female was a senior officer, a full Colonel, no less. A rather evil, yes, I believe that is the only word that could fully describe it, smile formed on her face at the sight of Anastacia’s crumpled form, her visage also displaying a state of true satisfaction within the new arrival. And although her initial speech suggested concern for the fallen woman, she certainly hadn’t fooled her ‘prey.’ For Svetlana Dementieva was NO stranger to the resident of this apartment, although it had been a few years since they last had met.
“Sharapov! Kuznetsov! Whilst neither of you oafs ARE in fact Gentlemen, that doesn’t mean that you can’t act like one for once! Assist this ‘Lady’ onto her feet please!” Make no mistake the manner in which the word ‘Lady’ had been uttered, suggested that the K.G.B. officer had absolutely NO respect for her victim, regardless of the fact that the normal use of the word implied such. Her two companions swiftly responded to their superior’s command however and hauled Anastacia off the floor. A sort of ‘circling’ gesture by one of Svetlana’s hands resulted in the satin covered girl being spun around, until her back now faced the Colonel, who, having pulled Anastacia’s arms firmly together, took great delight in producing a pair of solid steel handcuffs. A sort of ‘clicking’ sound announced Anastacia’s descent into the state of imprisonment to her adversary, followed quickly by a loud gasp of sudden pain, as Svetlana, quite deliberately, ratcheted the cuffs one more step beyond what was necessary in order to secure them, meaning that the metal rings dug into their bearer’s wrists in a fair state of discomfort. A repeat of that earlier signal meant that Anastacia now faced Svetlana again, who placed her own face VERY close to that of her captive’s.
“Well, well, Anastacia Petrova. Do you have ANY idea just how much I was hoping it was YOU when I saw that name on the investigation report, and volunteered for this assignment? How much I’ve dreamt of THIS moment, how I longed for it, and yes, even PRAYED for it? And now, well, I might actually be prepared to believe that there IS a God after all! It’s been a LONG time, hasn’t it?”
“Svetlana, please…OOW!” Whatever Anastacia had intended to say was abruptly cut short, as Svetlana’s leather clad hand slapped across the side of her face, HARD!
“Did I give you permission to address me as ‘Svetlana?’ As this IS an official investigation, unless I expressly say so, you WILL refer to me as Colonel Dementieva, or simply Colonel! Is that understood, Mrs Petrova?”
“Yes Colonel Dementieva.”
“That’s better! Now then, to the actual matter in hand. The British Embassy has issued the authorities here with a formal request, that one of their members of staff be allowed to marry a Soviet Citizen, namely yourself. I have been gifted the task, VERY much to my pleasure as I’ve already stated, to determine if there are ANY grounds to deny such a union. Are there?”
“No Colonel Dementieva!”
“Oh really? Interestingly enough though, whilst I KNOW you to be the utterly conniving, lying bitch that you TRULY are, there is NO evidence to suggest that you’ve passed ANYTHING onto the British that you shouldn’t have, and YES, we, or rather I, have taken a GOOD look. And, NO, I didn’t find anything. So, while it’s as much as a shock to me as it will be to you, I DO actually believe you on this. Not that I couldn’t ‘manufacture’ something damning if I chose to, you understand?” The absolutely terrified Anastacia simply nodded.
“If allowed to go ahead, this will, of course be your second marriage, won’t it?” Anastacia hesitated, much to Svetlana’s annoyance. “WELL?”
“Yes, Colonel Dementieva.”
“Yes, isn’t it just. You’ll then have been married twice, whereas I have yet to have been even the once. And tell me my dear MRS Petrova, just who’s fault is that?”
“I know that you believe it to have been mine.”
Svetlana responded to that, for her mind TOTALLY unsatisfactory answer, by once again slapping her captive around her face, with even MORE ferocity than the previous time! “BITCH! There’s NO question about it, no ‘belief in MY mind bullshit,’ YOU STOLE MY FIANCEE FROM ME! It was less than one month from the date of our wedding, and you used your guile to trap Yuri into running off with you instead! DIDN’T YOU?”
This latest outburst from their commanding officer did result in a rather puzzled expression appearing on both Sharapov’s and Kuznetsov’s faces. For like most males of, shall we put it ‘limited’ intelligence, whose cocks TOTALLY override their brains, they struggled to believe just what they’d heard. For you see, although the brunette Anastacia was very attractive, and could be called ‘sexy’ with reasonable justification, her beauty completely paled when compared to the stunningly sexual allure of her former friend. Svetlana possessed the figure, style and utterly delicious looks, combined with her flowing blonde hair, that would have enabled her to become a modelling SUPERSTAR from the VERY TOP drawer, if she’d been born in the West as opposed to the Soviet Union. And because of her beauty, both of them would have struggled to accept the TRUE reality that Yuri Petrov could no longer cope mentally with the demanding, stressful and unappreciated life that would have been his fate IF he had indeed married the spoilt Svetlana Dementieva.
Instead, he had turned to the gentle, kind and understanding Anastacia. And she HAD done her VERY best to discourage him, for she possessed NO desire to break her friend’s heart, refusing Yuri’s advances again and again, in an attempt to persuade him to fulfil his promise to marry his betrothed. Indeed, she still refused to form any relationship with Yuri for some time AFTER he’d split from Svetlana and she, wrongly, believed that her friend had got over the breakup. However, as was obviously clear, Svetlana continued to blame her for this loss.
And the marriage between Anastacia and Yuri hadn’t lasted long. He found himself suddenly ‘posted’ to Afghanistan, arranged by Svetlana’s father a full K.G.B. General. And there the Russian formation he was part of found itself ambushed by a vastly superior in numbers Mujahideen force, his life ending there and then in the Afghan mountains.
Svetlana ‘clocked’ the expression upon the faces of her minions, deciding that she wished to continue this ‘interview’ in a more private place. Well, what could be more perfect than Anastacia’s bedroom, she mused? “Shall we retire to your Boudoir, Anastacia?”
Although it was framed as a question, if fact almost a polite request, Svetlana’s mind was already made up, and it was actually an order. “Right, you two, Mrs Petrova and I are going to conduct this discussion elsewhere. You are to remain here, and WE ARE NOT TO BE DISTURBED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES! Even though we may well be quite some time. IS THAT COMPLETELY UNDERSTOOD?”
Sharapov snapped to attention. “Yes Colonel Dementieva, you have made yourself absolutely clear, Ma’am.” Kuznetsov also raised himself to the ‘attention’ position, but said nothing, simply nodding, thereby signalling his agreement. And the look that their superior officer gave both of them made HER intentions VERY clear to the pair IF they felt so stupid as disobey her. For some plans for a ‘bit of fun’ were already taking shape within her mind as regards to her former friend.
“Lead the way please, Anastacia.” Gesturing with one of her arms in the direction that she, correctly, guessed the bedroom lay. With the level of terror inside actually increasing in her captive’s mind at the prospect of being utterly alone with the evil Svetlana. But despite that, with NO real choice, the petrified Anastacia DID proceed towards her bed chamber.
They reached the door of that room, and with her arms firmly pinioned behind her Anastacia proved unable to open it. But, continuing her mock ‘polite’ tone, Svetlana herself grabbed the handle, pulled it down and pushed the door open. “After you, my dear.” Anastacia entered, followed by Svetlana, who immediately afterwards slammed the door shut, locked it with the key that was present, which she then removed placing it into one of her uniform pockets.
“Just in case one or both of those two idiots fail to comprehend an order,” she said before turning around and getting her first full sight of the room’s contents. Which, to a large degree completely explained just why Anastacia had been SO reluctant to allow Svetlana inside. For that satin nightdress and dressing gown combination was far from the ONLY gift her Englishman had festooned her with over their time together, with many of those ‘presents’ now being on FULL display.
“My, my, Anastacia, your Englishman seems to have NO bounds to his generosity, does he? What delights do we have here?"
