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From: "Deja User" <knave_of_hearts@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Saving a Village (MF, nc, hist)
Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2001 03:10:04 -0500
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Saving a Village
(c) 2001 Knave of Hearts
(MF, nc, viol)

The Civil War had raged across the country for almost a year.  Families 
and even villages had been exterminated in the vicious fighting.  Both 
sides looted, took food whenever they found it, and impressed able 
bodied men to fill their ranks.  But it was the brutality of the Cheka 
- the State Commission to Combat Counter-Revolution and Sabotage - that 
struck fear in everyone's hearts.  Even battle hardened Bolshevik 
guardsmen trod softly around the black leather coated commissars.  No 
one was sure when they could be accused of being unfaithful to the 
State and the trees and telegraph poles of Russia were adorned with the 
bodies of those that had run afoul of the Cheka.

But as the tides of battle ebbed and flowed across the generals' maps 
they had left one corner unsullied.  Both sides had ignored the town of 
Zharkov Manor because of its remote situation.  Home to the Baroness 
Khutsov, heiress to a small and ancient noble family, the village 
boasted only a water mill and 20 or so cotter's huts.  It was a quiet, 
tiny village amidst the devastation that lay on all sides of it.  

But then, in the late summer, the village was visited by the war.  A 
cavalry squadron, led by the Baroness' old friend, Commander Fodor 
Blevich, retreated through the village.  The site of the wounded 
soldiers drinking from the village fountain and the smears of blood 
left behind from their bandages were grim reminders of the outside 
world.  

The Commander had detoured his men to Zharkov Manor on purpose.  He 
wanted to warn his friend of the approaching Red Army.  He begged her 
to leave the unprotected village with him and remove the villagers to a 
place of safety but she said no.  Standing in front of the chateau, she 
told her friend that she could no more abandon the villagers and her 
manor than she could will herself not to draw breath. 

"You see, my dear Fodor." She smiled soothingly and placed her hand on 
his.  "I would sacrifice anything to protect these people.  My people." 
Although she was still less than two score years, she carried herself 
with the serenity and dignity that her title and position demanded.  

He laughed at her idealism.  Why, she sounded like a fairy princess in 
an old tale, he told her, but he knew her well enough.  Once she had 
made up her mind, she would not be swayed and so, sadly, he left.  The 
worst of the wounded, those that did not expect to see the first snows 
of winter, he left with the villagers.  The rest of the squadron rode 
east.  Their mission was to fortify the bridge at Putrograd, some two 
days ride away.

Sadly Elena watched him ride away.  He had looked so gallant when he 
had visited her last summer, his cap set atop his head at a jaunty 
angle.  Now, now he looked tired.  Tired and sad.  She walked to the 
chateau's gate to watch them ride away.  As the last trooper crossed 
the small stream that separated Zharkov Manor from the rest of the 
world, the spell was broken.  Standing erect, she banished the 
daydreams and become, once more, the Baroness Khutsov.

There was much to do and she started making mental lists as she 
purposefully walked from the gate to the Great Hall.  Spying old 
Aleksi, she remembered Fodor's final warning.

"If you're going to stay, Elushka, set a watch on the west road.  The 
Reds will find this place.  And when they do, they will destroy it.  
Felix Poperich leads the worst of them.  He's Cheka and he loves 
nothing more than to prove his worth to the Bolsheviks by standing in 
front of a pile of bodies.  The peasants say that when he's in a good 
mood, he likes to make people dance by shooting at their feet. When 
he's in a bad mood . . .  well, he locked the entire village of St. 
Olga's into the church and set it on fire.  They say he dined in the 
square listening to the screams."

Turning to the old man, she sent him toward the west road.  "Watch for 
horsemen, Aleksi.  If you see any, come warn us.  We must not let the 
wounded fall into the Red's hands."  Watching the old retainer hobble 
away, she knew that setting the watch had been a futile gesture but it 
had to be done.  

The manor hummed with activity as the women of the village turned the 
Great Hall into a hospital ward.  They cared for the wounded and set up 
a great kitchen to feed both the villagers and the soldiers.  Everyone 
was so absorbed with their work that they didn't notice Aleksi 
staggering through the gate.

"Baroness.  My lady.  They come!"  He pointed toward the west road.  

"Who comes, Aleksi?"

"At least fifty riders."

Elena didn't wait to hear anymore.  Quickly, she issued commands.  The 
wounded were moved to the crypts under the family chapel.  It was cold 
and damp there, but they would be safer than in the Great Hall.  
Composing herself, she went to stand at the chateau's gate to greet the 
new arrivals.

The riders were close.  She could hear the muffled sounds of their 
hooves as they entered the village.  Suddenly, she remembered one last 
thing.  

"Aleksi!  Take my horse.  Go to St. Basil's and bring Commander Blevich 
back here.  Quickly!"  She watched the old retainer limp around the 
corner of the church toward the stables.  If only he could get to Fodor 
before it was too late they could be saved.

Her heart froze as the riders entered the village square.  Aleksi had 
been right.  There were at least fifty men - hard eyed, heavily armed 
men who looked more like bandits than soldiers.  And at their head rode 
a man in a black leather trench coat.

Elena moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and stood silently 
at the gate.  Her head held high, she clasped her hands tightly in 
front of her bosom so that the Reds wouldn't see her hands shake.

The man in the leather coat stopped his horse in front of her.  He 
tipped his cap in a mocking salute before twisting in his saddle to 
survey the village.  Elena got her first look at the infamous Felix 
Poperich.  He was handsome, in a dark lean way.  His teeth were even 
and white, showing brightly through his black, closely cut beard.  
Indeed he could have been called dashing, the sort of gallant that had 
asked her to dance before she left the mundane world for the cloister, 
except for his eyes.  His eyes were the color of deep ice - cold, gray, 
and hard.  

The locked stares for several heartbeats before he dismounted.  
Dramatically pulling off his gloves, he stood in front of her.

"Where are the soldiers that came here?"  Elena said nothing.

<<SMACK>>  His leather gloves left a red mark on her cheek.  "I will 
not play this game for long Nun."  <<SMACK>>  He struck her again.  
<<SMACK>> And again.  Still, she said nothing.

"Very well then.  Play the part of the heroine."  He turned to one of 
the soldiers.  "Vasily.  Round up the villagers and put them in the 
church."  He turned back toward Elena.  Pleased with the look of horror 
on her face, he continued.  "Yes.  You know what will happen don't 
you?"  He stroked her abused cheek with his gloves.  "We will deal with 
the traitors and then we'll follow the trail that the enemy has left.  
There is time enough for a little pleasure before business."

He turned on his heel and watched with satisfaction as his men began 
rounding up the villagers at bayonet point.  Suddenly he grabbed 
Elena's arm and strode toward the chateau's huge oaken doors, whistling 
to himself and dragging her along.  Entering the first door they came 
to, the footman's room, he slung her to her knees in front of him.  He 
pulled the handkerchief off her head, exposing her pale blonde hair and 
milky white skin.

"Now that you've played out your Joan of Arc scene, let's get down to 
business.  You will tell me where the soldiers went, how many of them 
there were, and the names of their officers."  Elena set her jaw 
defiantly, but Poperich went on, drawing his revolver from its holster.  
"And if you don't my men will rape each and every one of the village 
women.  Right here in front of you.  Before we shoot them."

Elena folded her hands in front of her breasts and began to pray.  

"Yes.  Pray to your God.  He can't save you or the pathetic peasants 
that live here." He walked slowly around her tracing the soft curve of 
her collarbone with his pistol barrel.  "I usually shoot traitors in 
the forehead so that they can see the hammer fall. . . but it would be 
a shame to disfigure such a beautiful face."  His voice dripped acid as 
he mocked her.  "So I will shoot you in the back of the head instead.  
Maybe the suspense of waiting for me to pull the trigger will help 
loosen your tongue."

Poperich stopped directly in front of her to revel in the power he held 
over the slender, gentle woman kneeling in front of him.  He sneered as 
he watched the gentle swell of her breast rise and fall beneath her 
dress.  He waved his gigantic gun in her face, enjoying himself by 
terrorizing her, one hand cocked on his hip.  Sadistically, he brushed 
back a stray lock of her hair with the pistol barrel.  

Elena raised her eyes, mentally prepared to be executed.  Looking past 
the revolver's large black cylinder, she saw Poperich's eyes glowing 
with unholy glee.  All she could hear was a rushing in her ears.  She 
swallowed, willing herself not to give into the fear that was rising 
inside her.  She had to do something to prolong his entertainment, for 
he would surely kill her and all of the villagers when he grew bored 
with his sadistic games.  Once more she raised her clasped hands in 
prayer, hoping for divine guidance.

He struck her hands down contemptuously.  "I am the only power here."  

He legs numb from kneeling on the hard stone floor; she fell forward 
slightly but caught herself against his legs.  She felt the cool, 
smooth leather of his tight riding breeches.  Breeches that revealed a 
large lump in his crotch.  Elena suddenly realized that Poperich's 
thrill of killing was more than mental.  

She had never had much experience with men.  Her only experience had 
been a brief romance when she studied in Paris.  Remembering Emil, all 
those years ago, and the desperate, romantic moments she had spent with 
him in his tiny apartment, she knew what to do. She cupped her hands 
around the bulge in his breeches, slightly squeezing his throbbing cock 
through the tight 
leather.

Poperich chuckled.  Women had pled for their lives like this before.  
He had always enjoyed their feverish attempts to placate him, trying to 
buy their lives with their bodies.  Some he had kept for a few weeks.  
Some he had given to his men for their entertainment.  All of them had 
been shot sooner or later. 

"I've fucked nuns, Jewesses, and pig girls but I've never fucked a 
noble.  I'm going to enjoy this immensely."  

He placed her hands on his belt.  Reaching to one side, he put his 
revolver on the small votive altar near the wall.  Impatient, he helped 
her undo his belt and pull down his breeches.  His freed cock sprang 
from confinement, slapping Elena in the face.

Still holding onto his hips, she traced the length of his shaft with 
her pink tongue.  Poperich smelled of sweat and horses.  Reaching the 
wiry hair at the base of his cock, she paused.  She knew that she it 
was a sin but she did it for her village.  He grabbed her by the hair 
and wrenched her hair back.

"Suck," he commanded as he stuck the large, plum colored head between 
her red lips.

Feeling the smooth, hard flesh against her tongue for the first time in 
years Elena forgot the terror inside her breast and allowed herself to 
feel the tiniest spark of excitement.  Although her sexual experience 
was limited, she had been a nurse long enough to know that Felix 
Poperich had a huge penis.  She grasped his cock in her right hand, her 
small fingers barely meeting around its girth.  Her left hand cupped 
his balls as if weighing a soft leather sack.  Elena could feel his 
testicles, swollen with seed, in her palm.

Elena's mouth opened slightly and she teased her tongue across his cock 
slit, wetting his glans.  He tasted sour and salty.  Her hot breath 
blew across his pulsating phallus and he shuddered.  She looked up into 
his face as she covered her lower teeth with her tongue and sucked his 
thick cock into her mouth.  Her left hand massaged his balls, lightly 
scratching the sensitive spot between his anus and his scrotum.  

Murmuring to herself as she slide more and more of his manhood into her 
mouth, she felt the forbidden tingling in her loins.  She clamped her 
thighs together, intensifying the feeling in her groin as the blood 
rushed to her sex and swelled her nipples.  His hoarse breathing and 
vulgar exclamations told her that she was doing a good job.  Still 
holding on to the base of his cock, she pulled it from her mouth and, 
looking up at him like the Whore of Gomorrah, traced the seam 
underneath his shaft with the tip of her tongue.  

"They teach you bourgeoisie all sorts of useful tricks, don't they?"  
He sucked his breath in between clenched teeth as her warm mouth 
enveloped his shaft once more.  "Well I'll give you something to 
remember."

Holding her head by the hair, he steadily pushed the length of his 
turgid cock into her mouth.  She gagged when it hit the back of her 
throat but Poperich pressed against the back of her head.

"Relax.  Swallow like it's a summer sausage."  

He laughed at this own joke but Elena, following his command, was able 
to take him into her throat.  His cock filled her mouth.  She breathed 
through her nose and let him push his cock deeper.  She felt his pulse 
throb against her tongue and her throat constrict against the helmet of 
his cock.  

Elena pulled her head back, sliding most of his cock out of her mouth, 
when she felt his balls tighten.  She felt his shaft jerk as he filled 
her mouth with hot salty jism.  The taste was unusual but not 
unpleasant and she held his cock firmly in her mouth as he pulsed and 
spurt his seed into her.  Her tongue continued to lave his shaft until 
he had softened.  

Groaning with satisfaction, he smiled as he pulled his cock from 
Elena's red, cum smeared lips.  Poperich pushed her back on to her 
heels and scratched his crotch.

"That was a nice diversion but now back to business."

While he spoke off handedly, almost to himself, about sharing her with 
his lieutenant, Elena's mind spun frantically.  First, she had expected 
him to rest after abusing her but he was pulling up his underwear as if 
he would leave and resume his search.  Second, she still felt 
distracted by the tingling, itching feeling between her legs.  

Without saying a word, she unbuttoned her dress to the waist.  He 
stopped dressing as he saw her rough woolen dress fall to her ankles.  
Silently, she stood in front of him in her plain, darned cotton 
underwear.  The hard, swollen points of her nipples scratched against 
the fabric of her brassiere and sent electric shocks throughout her 
body.  She felt a flush creep up her neck as Poperich stopped dressing 
to inspect her.  

The sight of her soft, slender body made his cock stir.  He'd always 
been proud of his sexual abilities and fucking a Baroness in her own 
chateau would give him men a good story to tell and enhance his 
reputation.  He shrugged the heavy trench coat on to the floor and 
started unbuttoning his tunic.  There was time enough to do this in 
comfort.

Elena, seeing that she had gained his interest, reached behind her and 
unfastened her bra.  Dropping it to the floor, she cupped her hands 
beneath their full pale globes and offered him her round, firm breasts.  
She was satisfied to see his truncheon like cock make a tent in his 
underwear.  Her nipples sat atop her tits like cherries on a large 
confection, their dark red standing out against the pale skin of her 
breasts.  Still holding one breast, she traced her right hand across 
her stomach.  Elena hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties 
and pushed them down to join the rest of her clothing on the floor. 

She saw Poperich's eyes flash at his first glimpse of her mound.  She 
had never had much hair between her legs and what was there was as 
white as pure fallen snow.  Her swollen labia were pink and glistening 
with the juices of her excitement.  Without thinking, she ran her 
fingertips across the sensitive nub at the top of her slit.  She 
watched his reaction as she stroked her clit, teasing it out from its 
hood.

She stepped out of the pool of cloth her habit had made around her 
ankles and stood naked in front of him in her shoes.  In her mind she 
knew that she was making this sacrifice for her village, that it was 
her duty as a noblewoman and a Khutsov but deep inside her soul she 
knew that she had wanted this for years.  She had confessed to the 
priest that she touched herself until she had grown too embarrassed to 
repeat the same sin week after week.  The remote village hadn't seen a 
man worth a second glance in years.  The village had been her fortress 
against the outside world but the forbidden memories of a small noisy 
bed in a tiny attic apartment in Paris lay deep in her mind.  She had 
kept most of the temptation at bay but now, standing naked with a man 
who wanted her, she knew that she had to give into the temptation in 
order to conquer it. 

He had pushed his drawers down to his knees, and Elena watched his 
tumescent cock swell and point toward her like a compass needle toward 
the pole.  No man had ever seen her naked body.  None had ever 
witnessed her in this state.  She looked around for a place for him to 
take her, but he had his own ideas.

Reaching out, he pulled her toward him by her wrist.  Pushing her 
against a chest of drawers, he slapped her thighs apart and cupped her 
mons in his rough hand.  The chest was in front of the servant's votive 
altar and Elena whispered a prayer to the small wooden crucifix that 
hung on the wall in front of her.  Poperich got an evil charge from the 
contrast of Elena's naked body, bent over for his pleasure, and the 
small wooden crucifix on the wall. Hobbled by his tight breeches and 
riding boots he positioned himself behind her and placed the head of 
his cock against the wet outer lips of her pussy.  

He placed the bulbous head into her slit and pulled her hips toward 
him.  She was tight.  Tight and soft.  Most unlike the peasants and the 
prostitutes he was used to. Poperich held her hips tightly as he worked 
his thick sword in and out of her sheath.  Her gasps and small cries 
spurred him on

"Please . . . Please go slowly," she pleaded with him. The pain had 
been more than she had anticipated.

He slowed his penetration and relished the pain his cock gave her.  He 
knew that her pain would give way to pleasure soon enough.  Then her 
moans would be for more and she would beg him to fill her, to split her 
tight cunt with his cock.  Working deliberately, he eased the length of 
his penis inside her until he felt the smooth, soft globes of her ass 
press against his belly.  Moving her hips with his hands, Poperich 
"stirred the pot," rotating his cock inside her love tunnel without 
withdrawing himself.  

The pressure against the inner walls of her cunt made Elena moan.  The 
churning in her womb suddenly broke open and her body spasmodically 
clenched his thick cock.  She felt her knees turn to jelly as she 
enjoyed her orgasm.  He started pumping his cock in and out of her even 
while she still felt the flutters of her climax subside and she 
marveled at how much more intense the feelings were than when she had 
brought herself off.

As her body adjusted to his thick cock, she began to enjoy the feeling 
of its smoothly veined length as it plunged in and out of her.  She 
grunted with the impact as his cock hit bottom and he started to 
withdraw.  He savagely drove his cock into her cunt, banging his balls 
against her pussy lips at the bottom of each stroke.  

The violence of their coupling shook the chest, scattering the small 
shrine the footman had constructed on its top on the floor.  Even 
Poperich's heavy revolver spilled onto the polished wooden floor.  He 
was breathing heavy, like a horse at the end of a race, but he wasn't 
close enough to cum.  Holding her hips tightly against his, he paused 
for a breath.

He had stopped but Elena wanted more.  She needed more, not only to 
satisfy herself but also to buy more time.  Aleksi had to have caught 
up with Fodor's squadron by now.  Help should be on its way.  All she 
needed was more time.  Poperich's hands held her hips, his calloused 
fingers gripping her cruelly, but she straightened and made no attempt 
to pull away from him.

She reached behind her and touched his hip.  "Lay down," she whispered 
over her shoulder, "let me do it."

He understood what she wanted and stepped back.  Tripped by his 
breeches, he stumbled and fell back across the low cot beside them.  
His cock stood like a pillar, pointing toward the ceiling. She climbed 
across his hips and guided his thick hardness into her yearning pussy, 
moaning as she sank its length into the depths of her body.

Slowly she rode his cock using her legs to impale herself over and over 
again.  The feeling was indescribable.  She felt full of cock, as if it 
were penetrating through her vital organs, filling her with his 
maleness.  Her world shrank to the sensations of their fucking.  Elena 
put her hands behind her head and arched her back, thrusting her large 
breasts skyward as she exulted in the growing wave of her next orgasm.  
She begged him to cum inside her pussy.  She couldn't remember where 
she had learned the vulgar terms but she used them, describing how she 
wanted him to flood her cunt with his hot cream.  He reached up and 
pinched her nipples. She covered his hands with hers; snowy pale 
against sun burnt brown, and increased her pace.  

Through the room's small, high window, Elena could hear the sounds of 
horses.  She knew that they must be Fodor's men and that the village 
was being saved.  But first she had to finish with Poperich.  She took 
his entire length into her and, instead of reversing for another 
thrust, ground her hips against his.  Reaching between his legs, she 
caressed his pouch and scratched his sensitive spot behind his balls.  
She felt him swell and smiled to herself as the first pulsing jets of 
cum started to fill her.

His orgasm triggered hers and Elena felt as though she were being swept 
down a churning, roiling river.  Her body convulsed, milking his cock 
for its seed.  She collapsed against his shoulder while the spasms 
racked her slender form.

Laying still, she felt his cock soften inside her.  She didn't look at 
his face when she stood, a thin stream of juices dribbled down her leg 
as she stepped across his shiny boots.  For a moment she was lost, 
purposeless.  The room smelled rankly of their sweat and sex.  But then 
she looked back at a smirking Poperich laying on the footman's cot, his 
limp cock still slimy with the mixture of their juices, and she 
remembered what she had to do.

Satisfied with himself, he started to tell her that he would keep her.  
Maybe even take her back to Petrograd where she would whore for him and 
his friends.  She bent over, as if to retrieve a piece of clothing.  
When she stood she held the heavy revolver in both hands.  Too late, he 
realized what she was doing.  He tried to roll of the bed but was still 
fettered by his clothes.

She cocked the hammer back with both thumbs and drew her elbows in, the 
way her father had taught her.  Gritting her teeth, she pulled the 
trigger.  A thunderclap filled the room, deafening her.  The smell of 
cordite blotted out the stench of their copulation.  Again and again 
she pulled the trigger.  She watched dispassionately as red fountains 
erupted in Poperich's chest.  The bullets impact made his deflated cock 
flop around on his bare thighs.  Only when the hammer fell on an empty 
cylinder with a sharp metallic click did she come back to her senses.

Exhausted, she laid the pistol on the floor and knelt in front of the 
crucifix.  The sounds of gunfire had died away by the time she had 
finished praying.  The dead had been gathered and the wounded taken to 
the Great Hall by the time she emerged from her chambers.  

Her village was still there.  A little charred around the edges, 
perhaps, but still alive and ready to carry on to tomorrow.  Elena 
smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, set her shoulders back, and 
strode into the street, ready to set the example for her people.  Just 
as her family had done for generations.



Knave of Hearts
Visit my website at ASSTR (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Knave_of_Hearts/www) or at Geocities(http://www.geocities.com/Knaveofhearts2000/)

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