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A street corner in Moscow
January 1st 1929 7:20PM
Marie shivered as she carefully made her way down the street. The boots she had saved were strong and waterproof, but they had very little grip. The girl had to be careful not to slip in the snow. Across the square, she could see the front of the Intercontinental Hotel.
She had made it! Marie couldn’t believe it -- it had been so hard to travel all this way on foot, she was so terribly cold, and there had been moments when she had been tempted to sit down and rest. She had realized that would be fatal. Eight years of captivity and poor diet had sapped her strength and ruined her health; if she sat down in the arctic temperatures, she would never get up again.
But that was behind her now, the end was in sight. She felt sure that a fine lady like Alison Michaels would be grateful and generous. Marie started to imagine tucking into the first real meal she had had in years as she headed towards the hotel. To be honest, part of her hadn’t believed she could make it. As she crossed the square, she realized that she didn’t really have a plan. With the gag in place she could hardly ask to be taken to Alison’s room or even tell the heiress what was going on when she got there.
Marie gave a muffled sigh. In Paris, all she would have to do was step into the lobby and cast off her cloak, then let the hotel staff and the gendarmes protect her. Here in Moscow, however, a bound and gagged girl could not be sure of being rescued even in public. She started to formulate a plan. Hopefully her fine cloak would get her through the lobby unnoticed, then she would go up to Alison’s room. When the maid opened the door, Marie would show her the manacles and gag. Hopefully she could then get access to a pen and paper and write down her message.
Happy to have a plan at last, she didn’t really look where she was going.
“Papers?” The voice was coarse and demanding, and for a moment Marie thought he must be speaking to someone else. “I asked for your papers,” the voice said again, Marie turned and found herself looking at a tall, red faced man dressed in the uniform of the Moscow police.
“Umm,” Marie said. She glanced towards the welcoming doors of the Intercontinental Hotel and wondered if she could make it inside before the cop caught her. Eight years ago, before her captivity, she would have stood a chance, but now there was no hope.
“Ummm,” she sighed. Her only real hope was to try to persuade the cop to take her inside the hotel and then hope she got the chance to write her note.
The policeman grunted. “What’s the matter,” he asked, “you stupid or something?”
Marie rolled her eyes, then reached up, pulling down the scarf that covered the locked gag. “Ummm,” she said, pointing at the gag, then across at the hotel, “heees.” She begged with her eyes.
He recoiled a bit. “What is this?” he demanded.
Marie pointed towards the hotel again and rattled her chains in frustration.
The cop looked at the hotel, then at Marie, then back at the hotel again. “Come with me,” he said, replacing the scarf before grabbing her cuffed wrists and leading her towards the hotel.
Marie started to plan what she would write. She had learnt a little Russian before she and her mistress had been captured. Of course, that seemed like a lifetime ago. She tried to remember what she could. The risk was that she would write the wrong thing; on the other hand, if she wrote in French or English there was a risk that no one would be able to understand her warning until it was too late. She decided that she would write help in all three languages and then underline the French in the hope that someone would understand.
She was so busy planning that she didn’t immediately realize the cop wasn’t slowing down. Marie got a brief glimpse of the warmth and safety of the Intercontinental’s lobby before she was pulled past the doors and up the street.
“Ummmmm!!!” Marie screamed, trying to struggle free of the cop’s grip, but the man had her by the manacle chain and she couldn’t slip his grip. She tried to dig her heels in but her weakened condition and the lack of grip on her boots defeated her. For a moment she tried to appeal to the passersby, but these days it wasn’t uncommon to find the police dragging people away and most Muscovites knew better than to get involved.
At the end of the block the cop turned left down a side alley and dragged her to where a small horse drawn cab was waiting. Smiling, he pinned the struggling girl to the wall by her throat.
“This has to be the one,” the cop said, “there can't be two girls out there like this.” He pulled the scarf from the gag.
“That’s the one,” Karl agreed, stepping down from the carriage. He looked Marie over. “Welcome back Marie. We missed you.”
“Ummmmmm,” Marie screamed. Karl smiled at her small muffled murmurs. No one could hear her, and even if they did the sight of the cop would discourage the curious. Grabbing her shoulders, the big Bavarian shoved the little French maid inside the cab, then turned to the cop and counted out 10 gold sovereigns. “As we agreed,” he said. "Not a bad payday on ten minutes' work, eh, Comrade?”
The cop smiled. “Nice doing business with you again,” he agreed, slipping the money into his tunic pocket “and be more careful next time. The Comrade that usually has this beat called in sick. I doubt you would have found him as accommodating.”
Marie looked down at him from the carriage seat, her eyes wide and accusing. What kind of man could betray his duty and sell another for so little? The cop shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, then touched the brim of his cap and walked off into the night.
The first thing that Karl did when he entered the carriage was to tie Marie’s flailing legs. The girl knew it was all over but she couldn’t bring herself to give up just yet. However, when her ankles were tied she finally surrendered. Her life was over, and if she was lucky they would kill her quickly. Still, at least she had been a pain in their side during her final moments. She was able to get some satisfaction from that.
“You gave us quite a scare, Marie,” Karl said conversationally, reaching up to cover her gag with the scarf again. “I know that I shouldn’t say this but it was an impressive attempt. In fifteen years working for the Corporation, I have never known anyone come as close as you did.”
Marie, of course, said nothing, but as the cab passed the Intercontinental she looked up at the rows of illuminated windows. Behind one of them Alison Michaels was enjoying her last moments as a free woman. Marie had come so close to saving the heiress and herself that it was painful. As the hotel got further away, she tried to imagine what was happening in Alison’s room. She pictured the heiress in the middle of dressing, perhaps laughing and joking with her maid as Marie and her Lady had done so long ago.
Little did Marie know. . .
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Corporation Safe House, Moscow
January 1st 1929 7:20PM
The girl shuffled nervously from foot to foot while Peter made his inspection. She was petite, around five three, with the thin, willowy frame common to many western Russians. Her long blonde hair had been pulled back into a bun and hidden beneath a white frilly cap, though a few strands had escaped and succeeded in framing her pretty face.
Peter stood back and admired the short, black silken French maid's dress that clung to the girl’s body. He’d had the dress made for Marie, a visual joke to clothe the captive French maid while he fucked her. As such, it was more a costume than a uniform -- the skirt was far too short and the girl struggled to pull it down enough to cover her body.
Peter sighed. Damn Marie for disappearing. At this point, though, they had little choice but to go through with the replacement maid. The costume probably would have looked odd on Marie, as well; in the rush to implement his plan, there had been too little time to have a proper uniform made, and servant's clothes were hard to come by in a country that preached the equality of the proletariat.
“She knows English?” he asked Valeri.
“Da, Comrade,” the rat faced Russian said, “her parents were both private tutors before the revolution. She knows enough.”
Peter nodded. “You know what you have to do?” he asked the girl in English.
“Yes,” the blonde said willingly. “I am to open the door for the ladies, take their coats and then escort them upstairs. Then I am to change and go to meet my family at the railway station.”
Peter nodded. “Good enough,” he said. "Now go down to the kitchens and get something to eat.”
The girl smiled, obviously delighted with the prospect of food. She turned to go, then paused and looked back. “I was wondering, Sir, if I could pack a small parcel for my family too?” she asked nervously. "We haven’t eaten for several days, and my mother is very weak--”
“Yes, yes,” Peter said, “take whatever you want, now hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“Thank you, Sir,” the happy girl said, “I won’t forget your kindness, Sir.” She gave a small curtsy, hastily pulled down the skirt and then scuttled from the room before Peter could change his mind.
Peter waited a moment after she had gone and then walked over and checked outside the door.
“I don’t think that is necessary, Comrade,” Valeri said, looking over. "The girl is naive and quite desperate. She would not think of such a deception.”
“Why not,” Peter asked, closing the door. "That was what we thought about Marie, remember?”
He kicked himself for allowing the girl to get away. It seemed obvious that she had been planning things for months, using their trust against them, biding her time waiting for the right moment. For her to run tonight of all nights. Peter cursed again. The only bright spot in the whole affair was that the men had a pretty good idea who Marie would run to and had discovered her escape soon enough to make staking out the Intercontinental possible. He sighed. He had believed the Slave ship captain when the man told him that Marie was fully broken. The girl had lived with them for six years with no suggestion that she was anything but an obedient little slave girl.
Peter gave an involuntary shiver. He’d been about to trust her with their very lives! Marie had been part of his plan -- she was to be the fourth victim and collaborate their story about the robbery with the police. If she had played along for just one more day, she could have betrayed them to the GRU and doomed them all.
“Comrade,” Valeri asked, concerned.
Peter shook his head. “Just thinking how this effects our plan,” he said. "Obviously our story will have to be that the robbers kidnapped the maid as well. It’s the only way that we can explain her absence, and that means that your little blonde friend can never be allowed to return to Moscow.”
Valeri gave a rat-like smile. “I am ahead of you, Comrade. The girl, her two sisters and their parents are the grieving peasants I told you would accompany the coffin. All three sisters are young, healthy and very saleable. It was always my intention that they would accompany Miss Michaels on the final leg of her journey.”
Peter laughed. “Always the professional, eh, Valeri?” he said approvingly. "Now all we need is for the return of our slave and all will be well. Hopefully, nothing else can go wrong.”
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Intercontinental Hotel, Moscow
January 1st 1929 7:20PM
Sophia drifted back to consciousness. She was having a nightmare, one where something nasty had happened to Miss Alison, and Miss Leona was insane. She also had a splitting headache. Groaning, she tried to raise a hand to her head.
And found she couldn’t.
Sophia’s eyes flicked open with alarm. She tried to move her arms, her legs, but in all cases she met with resistance. Then she became aware that something soft and silky was filling her mouth, that something else covered it, silencing her. Frantically she turned her head, eyes fighting to focus. Finally in the gloom she could make out that she was on a bed, and the shape of her naked arm and right hand. Something was twisted around her wrist. As she pulled, she could see that the something disappeared off towards one side of the bed.
Turning, she found her left arm in a simular position. A few frantic tugs convinced her that her left wrist was also effectively tied. She chewed for a moment on the silken gag. There was something else wrong, but for the moment she ignored the odd signals coming from her body. It had not been a nightmare after all! Miss Leona had attacked her, and now she was lying bound and gagged on her mistress’ bed.
The curtains that surrounded the four poster were closed, so it was impossible to tell if she was alone or not. The little light that made it through the thick curtains offered little clues as to her position. Sophia grunted out a little sigh and started to assess her situation.
She was lying on a sheet in the middle of the bed, and her wrists were tied to the bedposts in some way. She tried to move her spread legs but found that they too were bound both at the ankles and, most worryingly, at the knees. She was spread open like a girl in a penny dreadful -- open and available for ravishment. Her eyes widened, the strange signals from her body now making sense. Frantically she managed to raise her head, looking down past the silken mounds of her breast towards her pale stomach and the indistinct darker triangle of her crotch.
She was naked!!!
“Ummmmmmppppppphhhhh!!!” she screamed, her heart falling as she heard her own muffled sounds. This was her worst nightmare ever. She was to be ravished in some foreign land, her precious maidenhead torn from her. . . Like the heroine in a melodrama, she struggled and twisted against her bonds, but it was no use. In a few moments she was winded, and lay there panting while little beads of sweat ran down her body.
She was trapped, she was naked, bound and gagged, helplessly splayed open and ready to be ravished. Sophia gave a muffled scream and fought the bonds again, this time in a more systematic way, looking for some weakness, some give. . .
She found none, the bonds seemed firm. Instead, she heard a low chuckle.
Sophia stiffened as the drapes at the end of the bed were thrown back. There stood Miss Leona, dressed in her mistress’ finest red dress and her brocade and sable cloak.
“So you are awake, my little one,” Leona said, smiling. “Just in time, too. I was starting to fear you would still be asleep when I had to leave.”
“Ummm,” Sophia moaned, “heef hiss, ummm hiii hee!”
Leona laughed, “And why should I do that, sweet Sophia? It took me ages to tie you that way, time I didn’t really have. Had I been sensible I would have just slit your throat, but you are such a pleasant little thing I thought I would give you a second chance.” She reached forward and stroked the inside of Sophia’s naked thigh with the tip of her gloved fingers, smiling as the helpless girl’s muscles twitched as she tried to close her legs.
Leona gave the girl a lusty smile. “I expect you to think on my kindness while I am away, Leibchen," she warned. "I also expect you to be suitably grateful at my return.”
Sophia looked up, horrified. She had been raised to be a good girl, she would never do what Miss Leona was asking. Defiantly she shook her head.
Leona chuckled. “I had a feeling you would say that, sweet Sophie, so I have a little present for you.” She opened her other hand to reveal a little ball of the same inky blackness that imprisoned Alison. Smiling, she pressed the ball to the helpless servant's crotch.
Sophia’s eyes widened as she felt the lips of her sex being opened and the blackness sliding its way inside. “Ummmmmmmmm!!!” she screamed, but by the time the sound worked its way past all the silk in her mouth barely a whimper could be heard.
The blackness was surprisingly gentle, oozing though the small opening in her hymen rather than just tearing her maidenhead aside. In moments she was filled, inside and out, a feeling she had never experienced before. She looked up at Leona with tear-filled begging eyes. “Ummm?”
Leona laughed. “Trust me, Leibchen, you will like this, I promise. Besides, what kind of a hostess would I be to leave a guest with no entertainment?” Through the implant she willed the symbiont into action. Sophie stiffened, gave a deep moan and started to writhe against her bonds. As the alien machine continued its teasing, the young maid seemed to lose herself in it completely. She strained against the bonds, screamed into the gag, but Leona was sure that it was a different type of release the girl was looking for now.
Smiling, Leona closed the drapes and looked around the room. Nothing seemed amiss and she had locked the bathroom door from outside, just to be sure. She would leave a note not to be disturbed on the exterior door but even if someone did look in they could see nothing wrong and she was sure that the sounds of passion from the bed would discourage any further investigation. Pleased, Leona left to keep her appointment with Peter.
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Corporation Safe House, Moscow
January 1st 1929 7:50PM
The bell rang again as Olga hurried down the corridor. The blonde girl paused for a moment and tried again to pull the skirt down at the back. Valeri had assured her parents that Mr. Peter was a respectable western businessman, but Olga wasn’t sure. What kind of respectable man would dress his servants like this? Still, her family desperately needed the money he was paying and Olga couldn’t wait to see her mother’s face when she saw all the food he had let her take. Making one final adjustment to the skirt Olga opened the door.
The girl waiting outside did not wait to introduce herself. Instead she strode purposefully though the door and threw back the hood of her cloak.
“Tell Mr Heiden that Miss Graaf has accepted his offer,” she said imperiously. For a moment the little blonde Russian girl just stood there, surprised by Leona’s entrance. The German girl looked the blonde over, which caused the girl to blush and try to pull her skirt down again. As Leona waited expectantly, the girl finally got the message.
“C. . .can I take your cloak, Miss?” Olga asked and curtsied, a maneuver she immediately regretted because it caused her skirt to ride up again.
“Yes,” Leona said, removing the cloak with a flourish and depositing it in the startled servant’s arms.
Hurriedly Olga hung the cloak, then looked around, confused. “I’m sorry, Miss,” she said, frowning, “I thought Mr. Peter was expecting two guests?”
“You're quite right, my dear,” Leona said, opening her small purse and fixing her makeup, “he was.”
Confused, Olga led the way to the drawing room.
. . . . .
“Leona,” Peter said, rising from his chair, “you look wonderful.” He frowned and looked towards the door where Olga stood trying to adjust the skirt again.
“She decided not to come, Peter,” Leona said smoothly in German, “In case you haven’t noticed, there is a blizzard blowing outside. I’m afraid our Alison elected to stay at home and have a bath.”
“A. . .a bath?” Peter stuttered.
“Yes,” Leona said with a small smile, “and once Alison is in her bath -- well, believe me, darling, absolutely nothing can get her out of it.” She turned towards the door. “You can go now, my dear,” she told Olga in English, “Mr. Peter and I need to be alone.”
Peter’s mind raced. “I. . .I don’t understand,” he said, nodding towards the restored piano, “I thought she was coming for a recital?”
Leona took a cigarette from her purse and placed it between her cherry lips. Instinctively, the German offered his lighter. Leona took a puff and then idly draped herself over the chaise lounge. “Peter, my little country mouse, how do I put this?” she purred. "This tour of Eastern Europe to separate Alison from her chaperones and other wise heads? Now that was a good idea. Prague, with the opera and the dancing, that was a good idea. Moscow with freezing conditions and all the attractions of a prison camp? Bad idea. In fact, a seriously bad idea.”
She drew on the cigarette and settled back. “Poor Peter,” she cooed, “haven’t you worked it out yet? Alison is a sexual adventuress, my dear. She likes dangerous men -- as toys and fashion accessories, of course. She likes to play with them, be seen with them, but she will never marry one. All that money you see, it corrupts your outlook. You were fun for a while, you could have nursed her interest a little longer had you taken her someplace else, but bringing her to Moscow just hastened her becoming bored with you.”
Leona stood and slinked over. Stopping in front of him, she ran a leather gloved hand across his shirt. “I, on the other hand, like what I see,” she said, her blue eyes looking deeply into his. “Oh, I admit that at first I saw you as just another pretty boy not worth my interest, but all those little stunts you pulled to get Alison alone? They showed an inventive and ruthless side to you. One I find most attractive.”
Peter’s mind was in turmoil. First Alison didn’t show, and then Leona, sweet innocent little Leona, had started to come on to him. Despite everything he was responding, he felt her stocking’d leg caress his tented pants. Much to his surprise he found himself trembling.
“You seem surprised?” Leona said, her pouting, cherry lips twisting into a coy smile.
“Yes, a little,” Peter admitted, fighting hard to regain his composure, “I never realized. . .I mean, Alison said that you were a virgin, naive, chaste.”
She gave a low laugh. “Yes Peter, chaste but never ever caught -- until now.” Laughing, she threw the cigarette onto the fire. “Alison can afford to be outrageous because she has her own money and no one can take it from her. I on the other hand have a judgmental father who would have much rather had a son. He would like nothing better than to find an excuse to disinherit me.” She laughed again. “Alison gave her virginity to the first little French boy with a pleasing line. He tried the same line with me -- it was a sport to them, you see, a contest to see how many convent girls they could deflower. I admit I liked his line, but not enough to endanger my inheritance.”
She placed her long gloved arms around his neck, sliding her body against his. “Don’t confuse virginity with naivete, Peter,” she said sweetly, “I know a lot about the world, far more than little Alison in fact. I just choose not to share my gift with the first man that asks for it. I am looking for someone special, Peter, someone ruthless, ultimately without conscience, someone that my father would come to respect.” She kissed him, her tongue forcing its way into his surprised mouth, then pulling away. “Waiting for you, Peter,” she panted. "We are two of a kind, you and I. Both young, both strong, both Aryan, both totally dedicated to getting what we want from life and willing to do whatever is necessary to make that a possibility. My father is a ruthless man, and I understood that I need a ruthless man to be my partner.”
She paused and ran her gloved fingers though her hair. “Are you ruthless, enough to take what you want, Peter?” she panted, looking at him with big eyes, “If so, you have a far better future with me than with little Alison. Oh, she will pamper you, buy you shiny toys, but my father has connections, political contacts throughout Germany. With those, a ruthless man could build his own empire.”
Peter’s mind reeled. The Corporation ran on patronage -- it wasn't what you knew or what you did that was important as much as the contacts you had and the influence of the people that backed you. Back in Germany Peter had seen that Max’s power was on the wane. It seemed unlikely that Peter would keep his captaincy when the Moscow office closed down. The idea of going back to Germany and being forced to take orders again stuck in the young man’s throat. He had already considered finding another mentor, and now Leona was offering the ultimate prize -- the support of Conrad Graaf, the only German member on the Corporation’s Executive Committee. In all honesty, he had no choice.
“I am ruthless enough,” he said, nodding. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to marry me,” she said, stroking his cheek. "We will confront my father together, force him to make you a partner, name you as his successor.” She kissed him again, gloved hand playing up and down his erection. She broke off, directing his hand to her body and rubbing it over her mound. “And as an inducement, I have a bonus for you.”
Peter trembled. “Oh. . .oh God, Leona. . ." he moaned.
“Where’s the bedroom?” she purred.
“This way." Taking her hand, he led her upstairs.
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Marie shivered and moaned in pain, trying to move her shoulders as a method of easing the terrible tension. She found she couldn’t -- the men had left her bound so tightly she could barely move. Shivering with cold, the half-naked girl looked around the frozen cellar. When they had dragged her down here she had expected a quick death with a gun or a knife or a noose. Instead, Valeri had stripped off the upper layers of her clothing, leaving her with just the peasant skirt and the boots. Then, while one of his men held her, he had bound her arms behind her, wide strips of bed sheets being used as bandages, wrapped tightly around her limbs as the shivering girl did her best to struggle. Over this layer came a nest of tight ropes, further immobilizing her as well as binding her to a strong wooden chair.
Finally even the steel gag had been removed and replaced with more sheets, her mouth packed to a point where no sound was possible. Only when she was finally bound and helpless had Valeri explained her gruesome fate. With a rat-like smile and hard Russian logic, he explained that she was to be left here to die slowly of exposure. The cold would get to her soon, he had explained gleefully, then it would start to eat its way into her bones until her heart froze. Once she was dead they would clothe her in her peasant clothes and leave her in an alley, just another street person to succumb to the cold.
Then he had left, but as a final cruelty he left the cellar door open so that she could hear Peter’s guests when they arrived and die knowing that she had failed. She had been slipping into unconsciousness on and off ever since as the cold did its work. She could vaguely remember hearing the door bell, remembered her weak attempt to scream out a warning, but gagged like she was the sound hadn’t carried far. She was too tired now to worry about anything. Still shivering, the slave slipped into unconsciousness.
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“What do we do, my friend?” Valeri whispered.
Peter ran his fingers through his hair and tried to think. Under normal circumstances he would be in the bedroom accepting Leona’s “bonus,” but right now he had bigger things to worry about. He had told Leona that he needed time to dismiss the servants so that they would have privacy. In truth, he had needed time to plan.
“Comrade?”
“Yes, yes,” Peter snapped, “please, Valeri, I need a moment.”
Alison hadn’t come but Leona had! Of all the possible combination of events he had planned for, he hadn’t considered that one. Trying to take Alison from the Intercontinental was out of the question -- half the staff were GRU men placed there to spy on the foreign visitors, and all were fanatical communists. Stealing her from the Kremlin would be easier. He needed to get her to leave the warm safety of the hotel and come here where his men were waiting.
“Is your little blonde maid still here?” he asked.
“Olga?” Valeri said with a shrug, “she is in the kitchen changing now. I wanted her clear of the house before we stage our robbery.”
Peter took a piece of paper from the bureau and scribbled a brief note. “Excellent,” he said, “get her to take this note to the Intercontinental. She is to deliver it directly to Miss Michaels' hand only, and then go on to the train station from there.”
“What is it, my friend?” Valeri asked.
Peter smiled. “A note telling Alison that Leona has been seriously injured and she is to come here at once. I think that will get our American out of her bath, don’t you?”
“If the GRU sees the note?” Valeri began.
“Then I will deny sending it,” Peter said, with a shrug, “when Alison arrives, she will stumble in on our little robbery. I will tell the police that I assumed she changed her mind and arrived unexpectedly -- an unfortunate accident. If the note is found, then I will deny it as a forgery used to lure Alison here. Obviously the robbers intended to kidnap Miss Michaels from the start.”
Peter slipped the note into the envelope and handed it to Valeri. “Send the girl now, then give me a half hour to start our little drama.”
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