index


Message-ID: <45310asstr$1068721803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Ravpapa <ravpapa@yahoo.com>
Content-transfer-encoding: 7BIT
NNTP-posting-date: Wed, 12 Nov 2003 15:37:31 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Stalin's Women
Date: Thu, 13 Nov 2003 06:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. If you are offended by
sexually explicit material or are under the age of 18, stop reading
now. This material cannot be reproduced for commercial purposes
without the consent of the author.

Copyright RavPapa


Stalin's Women

by Vladimir Sepiov

translated and edited by RavPapa

Prologue

Josef Stalin, the tyrannical dictator of the Soviet Union from 1929 to his
death in 1953, was known for his prodigious sexual appetite.  He was reputed
to have sex with three or four women every day.  He loved variety, but he
especially loved sex with pubescent virgins.  A special unit of the KGB was
charged with procuring women for him.

The Russian historian and underground writer Vladimir Sepiov chronicled many
of Stalin's sexual encounters.  He searched out and interviewed hundreds of
women who were taken to Stalin's quarters.  These women told him what
happened to them there and afterwards.  He documented these interviews in a
typewritten manuscript, that was circulated by the underground press in
Moscow for many years.  Sepiov himself disappeared in 1959, presumably
murdered by the KGB.

A copy of the manuscript reached the United States in 1953, but was quickly
suppressed by the CIA.  In 2001, when I first heard about the manuscript, I
applied to the US government to receive a copy, under the Freedom of
Information act.  At first the CIA denied the existence of the manuscript,
then, forced to acknowledge it, they went to court, still concerned about
the security repurcussions.  In April, 2003, I won the court case, and
received a copy of the manuscript.  I offer it to ASSTR as one of the most
important historical erotic documents of our time.

RavPapa

Interview 1: Lena's story: 1932: Part 1: The Encounter

I am walking with my six-year-old daughter Natasha when Stalin's motorcade
passed. Naturally, I try to hide my face as the cars passed. But Natasha,
she is fascinated by the big, shiny motorcars.  She rushes to the front of
the crowd to get a better look.  I rush after her, and grab her.  At that
moment, I look up and am seeing the Teacher (the honorific that Stalin
preferred - ed), he stares directly at me, and then turns to the man at his
side and to whisper in his ear.  I am frozen a moment with terror, then I am
grabbing Natasha's hand, and rushing back into the crowd.

We are pushing our way to the back, and I go off down the narrow alleyways
of the market, dragging Natasha after me.  My heart it beats like wild.  But
I saw behind me two agents, who quickly catch us up.  One is grabbing my
arm, and the other he takes the hand of my child.  "You will come with us,"
they say.

I am distraught with fear.  I cannot speak, hardly breathe.  They lead us to
a car - I of course am never riding in a motorcar before - and push us in.
The agents they are not gentle, but they are not rough neither.  The tall
one said, "You have nothing to fear.  The Teacher saw you in the crowd and
asked to meet with you."  This does not calm me.  I am so frightened I am
afraid to pee on the fine leather seat of his motorcar.

We come into the Kremlin by a back entrance.  I am led with Natasha to a
room with a large tub of water, where a matron is waiting.  The two agents
they leave me there.  "Strip off your clothes," the matron says.

I am horrified.  I am sure I am to be tortured.  "Why, what have I done?"  I
stutter.  "You have done nothing wrong," she says.  "The Teacher saw you,
and wants to meet you."

"But what could the teacher possibly want with me?"

"To fuck you, of course," she says curtly.  "Now strip off your clothes."

I am shocked.  I rush to cover up my daughter's ears, that she should not
hear such things.  But the matron she takes the child's hand and goes to
lead her out of the room.

"No, no" I scream.  "Don't take her away!"

"Don't you worry, she will be well cared for, and you will see her when the
Teacher is done with you."  She rings a bell, and an attendant is coming and
lead Natasha away.  "Now off with your clothes," says the matron.

I am shaking with fear and embarrassment as I strip off my worker's uniform.
I stand before her stark naked.  She points to the filled basin of water.
"Into the tub!"

Even in my terror, I am shocked.  I am never in a tub or water before, I am
sure it will kill me.  Impatient, she grabs me and pushes me into the water.
To my surprise, it is warm and pleasant.  I stop shaking a little.  The
matron she rubs me down with a bar of rough soap.  She lathers up my long,
blonde hair. The soap gets in my eyes and is burning terribly.  She scrubs
my breasts til my breasts, you know, kind of stood up, and scrubs very hard,
you know, down there.  At first I press my knees together, but she shouts at
me, and I let her wash me there.  It feels good, in spite of I am
embarrassed and so nervous.

All the while, the matron she talks to me, and tells me what is expecting of
me.  I am ashamed to tell you the words she says, I don't use those words.
She says the Teacher is a very gentle and kind man, and I have no reason to
be afraid.  Then she tells me that he wants me to be warm and kind, and
"wet", she says.  "He especially likes you to kiss him on his..." I can't
say the word, but you know.  "But be very careful not to use your teeth, you
can end up in Siberia."  She laughed, but I do not think this funny.

When I am clean, she makes me step out of the tub, and is rubbing me dry
with a huge white towel.  She especially rubs me on my breasts and between
my legs, and I feel all tingly.  Then she is giving me a new worker's
uniform, fresh and clean with no stains or patches.  I have not a new suit
of clothes since I can remember.  "Now you are ready," she says, and leads
me out into the corridor.

Interview 1: Lena's story: 1932: Part 2: With Stalin

You cannot imagine how I feel when I see this great man.  You know, we all
live in terror of Stalin, he has killed and ruined so many of Russians. To
kill is a thing of nothing to him.  But, you know, we Russian peasants
worship him, besides we fear and hate him.  He is so great, so powerful, it
is a terrible things he does, but he keeps our country and leads us.

So I am coming into the room, I am looking at the floor.  I do not dare lift
up my eyes to see the Teacher.  The matron she takes me into the room by my
arm, and goes out and shuts door.  Now I am alone with Him.

I see he is sitting at desk, writing, and he does not look at me or pay me
attention.  I wait, with eyes to floor. Maybe five, maybe ten minutes.  Then
he is getting up and come over to me, and with his hand is lifting my chin.
I look into his eyes, and I feel I am melting inside.

"What is your name, child?"  he says.

"Lena," I say, and I am barely whispering.

"Lena, you are very beautiful," he says.  "You have very beautiful hair."
He strokes my cheek, and very gentle pulls off my kerchief.  I have very
long very blonde hair and it falls down to my shoulders.

His hands, they are so soft.  I have never felt such soft hands.  This is
the Iron Man, the man we think he is so strong and hard, yet he has hands
soft like child.  And so clean, no dirt, not even on fingernails.

I am feeling hot all over.  You must know, I am good Russian wife, I love my
husband only, I never do even looking at other men.  But this man, his
voice, his touch, his eyes, he has a power.  I am feeling that I must touch
him, that I must stroke his dark skin and love him.

And I know, too, if I do not do this good, I am a dead woman.

So I put my hand on his chest, and stroke him, and lightly with my fingers I
am playing with his shirt, with his skin under his shirt, I am dreaming that
I am kissing him all over. And he takes my head in his hands and he kisses
me on my lips, with his tongue and his teeth and his whole body I feel
flowing into me through that kiss,  and I cannot breathe, I am feeling a
power flowing up through me from between my legs and into my whole body.

And I have orgasm.

I must have him, and so I am tearing at his clothes, and he is pulling at my
blouse and my brassiere and my skirt and we are naked and ... I am hot when
I think of this, it is like a burning in my mind.  And I think I must touch
him, there, you know, and I am on my knees and kissing him, and he is so
big, you know, his you know, it is huge, like a huge kielbasa, and his, you
know, his balls, they are so big and heavy, I have never seen such big
balls.  I am licking them and my, you know, I am all wet down there, and I
am trying to take his big thing into my mouth, but it is so big. And all the
time my body it is seized with shaking of orgasm, while I am sucking on him
and lifting his huge balls with my hands, and then he is stiffer and
stiffer, and hard like marble, and I feel it tense and spurt and I must
drink and drink and it is like a fountain, and I am swallowing, choking,
swallowing, and shaking with my orgasm all the time.

Wait, a moment, I must be calm.  Can you give me glass of water, please?

So.  So we are after, and he is sitting down, and he is smiling at me.  I am
like a baby to him, I am swimming in his greatness.  He says to me, "Now, my
Lena, now you must go, but I will ask that you come back to me."  And I
cannot speak, I am so washed with his power.  You know, I am never naked
before a man but my husband, but to Him I do not feel no shame, and I stand
up and I put on my clothes, and He too is dressing. And then the matron she
is coming and bringing me to my beloved Natasha, and gives me my old
clothes, back, too, and gives me 60 rubles, and takes me out to the
motorcar.   And then the two KGB agents they join us in the motorcar, and we
are off to home.

Interview 1: Lena's story: 1932: Part 3: Homecoming

Now we are riding home and I am beginning to be very afraid.  Because I know
my husband he will be very angry.  I do not know what he will do but when he
drinks the vodka and is angry, this is very bad.  So I ask, please, I want
we should get out here and we walk to my home.  But the agent he says no, I
must take you to your home.  This makes me very afraid, and I know this will
be very bad.

The motorcar it is stopping in front of our apartment house, and all the
neighbors are looking out, and watching Natasha and me to get out of the
motorcar, me with my new clothes, and they all know something is happening
here.  So I grip Natasha's hand very tightly, so she almost cries out, and
rush up the stairs to our apartment.  And there Pyotr, my husband, is
sitting in the kitchen, and drinking the vodka, and I see in his eyes a
darkness like the black night.

"Where have you been?" he hisses at me, and pointing with his finger.  And I
look down at the floor, and start to speak, but he knows already everything,
I don't know how.

"You whore, you dirty Stalin's whore," he shouts, and he gets up and strikes
me hard with his fist in my face. I fall down, and scream out for Natasha to
run away, because I know he is going to beat everyone around.  Natasha she
runs out in tears, and I start to get up, with blood all out of my nose, and
my eye is starting to swell up and be black and blue, but he comes and
pushes me down again.  Then he kicks me hard in my side and I cannot
breathe, and is kicking and punching me.  And I curl up in a little ball and
cover my head to try to keep off the blows, but he is kicking my back and my
legs and my bottom.

Then he grabs me by the hair and lifts me up, and looks at me.  "New
clothes, huh?" he says.  "Stalin gives his whore new clothes!

"Well, these clothes are too good for this house!" he shouts, and starts to
tear at my clothes.  He rips my blouse down the front, and tears it off, and
grabs the front of my brassiere, and rips it off, too, and the straps tear
and burn and cut me.  Then he pulls at my skirt, it is made from heavy
cotton, and he starts to pull it down, but it doesn't come down well because
he is so drunk, so he pushed me down and grabs the hem in his two hands, and
he tears the skirt into two. And then my bloomers he takes and rips from my
legs, so I am naked.  And he is all the time screaming, "Let's see Stalin's
tight little cunt," and "How does the 'Teacher' like to squeeze these whore
tits?" and terrible things, so terrible, I cannot hardly hear him because my
head is throbbing so.  Then he pushes me onto the table and pushes me legs
apart.  "Can I fuck my little Stalin's whore now, or are she too good for
her husband?" and he pulls out his, you know, and he pushes it into me hard
and is hitting me all the time on my breasts and my face.

Then I feel him finish, and pull out and pull up his pants, and stomp out
the apartment. And I crawl into a corner and grab up my torn up clothes, and
curl up and cry and cry and cry.

Interview 1: Lena's story: 1932: Part 4: Stalin Again

I cannot go out of the apartment for few days, I am so beaten up and
swollen.  My husband stays out for two days, then comes back but he does not
speak to me.  I am doing everything to be good to him I make potato soup
like he loves, and am very kind because I don't want him to be angry.  You
see, I love my husband and I forgive him the terrible thing he do, because I
understand, and I, too, am ashamed and angry by this terrible thing I have
done.  For he knows I have been with Stalin, but what he does not know is
how I have given myself to Stalin, and have had such great orgasm again and
again and how Stalin is always in my dreams and burning between my legs.  So
you see I have reason to be much more ashamed and angry than my husband.
But I do not tell him this.

So after a few days my swellings they go down some, and I can walk again and
look somewhat okay, though I have many bruises and cuts on my body.  So I go
to work at the factory, but no one speaks to me, and when I go in everyone
looks the other way.  But the men, they look at me with laughing in their
eyes, and I see they are looking through my clothes and thinking.  So it is
very bad at work and I am very unhappy.

Then one day, a week after, comes again the motorcar to our apartment block,
and the men come to take me.  I am again much frightened,  but this time, my
heart is thrilling that Stalin he will be with me again.  And again I come
to the matron, and she washes me, and gives me new clothes, and I go in to
Stalin.

The moment I walk into his room, I feel his power wash over me.  It rushes
over me like a flood and I feel the shuddering deep in my belly.  He comes
to me and caresses me, but then he sees the bruises on my face, and his eyes
turn to burning coals.  "Who did this to you?"  he asks.  "No, it is
nothing, I am falling down the stairs," I say.

"No, you will tell me the truth.  Who has beaten you?"  he says.  I hear the
anger in his voice, and I have a great fear.  I do not want to tell him, so
I look on the floor, and say nothing.  "It is your husband, is it?"  I
cannot answer.

Stalin goes to the door and tears it open.  He is like a lion when he is
angry.  He calls in a guard, and grabs my hand with terrible strength. "Do
you see this?" he shouts at the guard.  "Do you see?  This her husband has
done to her."

"I understand," says the guard, "It will be taken care of."  I start to
scream hysterical, "No, no, it is not my husband, he does nothing to me.
Please, please leave him, let him be I love him."  But the Teacher is
holding me by the wrist and shaking with anger, and says, "No one will do
this to my Lena.  Do not fear, I will take care of you, I will protect you."

And now we are alone together again.  But now I see him differently.  In his
anger, I see he is an animal, a monster. The heat I feel has died and turned
to cold, cold.  I feel I will be sick if I must touch him.

He thinks nothing of me, but turns roughly and sits in his chair.  "Come to
me now," he says.  "I must relax."  I am sick with fear and terror and
revulsion, and I know something terrible is to happen to my Pyotr and to me.
But I must make myself do this or I will die, so I kneel before him, and
open his pants, and take his enormous thing in my hand.  But now it is
awful, and heavy, so heavy, I cannot hardly lift it.  He takes my head, and
now he is not gentle, and pushes me onto him, and I take him into my mouth,
and feel I am choking, but I must not fail, so I am careful about my teeth
like the matron says.  But I do not need to do anything, because his huge
hands hold my head and he pumps himself into me, like I am a machine or a
doll.  And I am feeling dizzy and sick and fight not to vomit.  Then he
stiffens and I feel his spurting into my mouth, and I swallow, swallow, and
he dribbles down the sides of my mouth and onto my blouse and on my face.

He pushes me away, and turns to his desk, and says only, "Get out."  I am so
afraid, and sick to my stomach, and I turn and rush out, and down the
corridor.  I run past the agents into the street, and by the side of the
building I throw up again and again, and then walk off.  I do not want the
ride or the motorcar or the new clothes or the sixty rubles.  I want just to
die.

Interview 1: Lena's story: 1932: Part 5: The Aftermath

I walk home all across Moscow, it is very late when I come to my apartment.
Pyotr is not there, and I know I will never see him again.  Natasha is
asleep on her mattress, all her clothes she has on.  I fall onto our bed -
my bed - and fall deep asleep.

The Teacher - hah! - the dictator, he says he will protect me, but this is a
lie.  For the next day a terrible thing is happening to me.  I have no
husband and no one to protect me, and I know very bad things are going to
happen.

I go to work in my factory, and, like before, no one talks to me but the men
they are staring.  Then, at morning break, the foreman comes and calls me to
the office.

The office is a big room at the top of stairs, with big windows so the
bosses can look over the workers all the time.  I go in here, and I see the
head of the committee, he is waiting with two comrades.

They are staring at me, it is very uncomfortable.  "Lena," says the boss,
"we are very unhappy by your work these days.  You do not concentrate, and
you are absent many days."

I look at the floor.  "I am sorry, comrade chairman. I will try harder."

"No, now you have no husband to look after you, I think we need to stop your
work here," says the chairman.  I know what this means.  No work in Russia
is a crime of parasitism, you go to prison, you go to Siberia.  So I am
pleading with them, "No, no, comrade chairman, I will work very hard, I will
do extra shift, you will see."

"You know, Lena, we know, we all know, what you have done for mother Russia,
how you have helped the Teacher.  We know you will help us this way, too, so
we will not send you away."

You see, now I am completely helpless.  I am at the mercy of this man, he
can do to me what he wants, I cannot resist.  To resist means to go to
prison, maybe to die.  I am fainting in my heart.

"Now you show us what you show the Teacher, okay? You take off your blouse
here and show us!"

"I cannot show you here, we are in the office, the whole factory will see,"
I am begging.  "Please let us go to the back room, I will make you happy
there, you will see."

"What you show to the Teacher you must share with everyone," says the
chairman and the other men laugh.  "Now you show us, or you must go."

I am frozen with horror.  I cannot move, my arms are like dead weights at my
side.  The the boss he signals to his two friends, they take my arms, and
they pull off my blouse and my brassiere, and I stand with my bare breasts
before this chairman monster.

"Now turn Lena and look out the window. Look out at the factory."  It is a
horror they are trying to kill me with this.  I cannot move, so the two men
they take my arms and turn me to the window looking out on the factory
floor.  And I look out, and see all the workers looking up at me, and they
are cheering and clapping.  I want to cover up my breasts with my hands, but
the men are holding tight my hands, and I cannot move. I am so shaking and
feeling awful, that I make pee in my pants.  I shut my eyes tight to block
out the sight of these people, who were once my friends.

"What is that smell?"  asks the chairman, and his friends they say, "she has
pissed her pants!"  and they all laugh.  So the chairman says, "Lena, you
cannot wear your dress with all smelling of piss, now," and he signals his
friends to pull off my dress.  One man is holding my hands, and the other
bends and pulls down my dress and my knickers, so now I am all naked, and
everyone in the factory can see from my waist up through the window, and the
men inside, they see me all naked.

"Hah, Stalin, he have good taste!" says the chairman.  He comes to me and
slaps me on my bottom.  "Fine ass," he says.  "Fine for fucking," says his
friend.  And they all laugh.

The chairman he takes down his pants, and puts his, you know, into my
bottom, and pushes hard, and it hurts very much, but I almost feel nothing,
I am so sick with shame and horror.  Then he is pumping in my bottom hard,
and it is hard for me to stand up, and the two men are holding my hands
apart, so everyone can see this man doing this to me. And the men laugh,
"You fuck her hard, make her tits jiggle!"  And I see down in the factory
everyone looking up and cheering, while the chairman do this to my ass, til
he push very hard and stiff, and again and again, til I feel the wet run
down my leg.  Then he hold my hands, and his friend, then his other friend,
do this to my ass, while the people below are cheering.

Then they give me my clothes, and tell me to dress, and go back to work.
But I put on the clothes and I go to my house, and I know I will never go
back to that work no more.

Interview 1: Lena's story: 1932: Part 6: Postscript by the author

After Lena left the factory, she moved out of Moscow with Natasha, and lived
for a while with her sister in a Moscow suburb.  She later found work in a
small leather-processing workshop, where I found her and interviewed her.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+