The Coin

No, the woman formerly known as Illona Petrayovitch Ekaterinova Romanov, occasionally ‘the Baroness’ and now as just plain Illona Khotliykova was not one to flinch at anything, let alone a little personal risk.

She had never flinched at pain, blood or death.

Never!

Of course the surname ‘Romanov’ was more than inadvisable in the present political climate. What, with a polemical and dialectical tension between the growing power of the Soviets and the supporters of the idea of a Duma with representative powers; now was not the time to stick the head above the parapet with a name like ‘Romanov’!

In Odessa she had been known as ‘the Baroness’. A member of the Ohkrana, the brutal instrument of the Emperor of all Russias.

But the Ohkrana had failed.

It was a broken hope and its officers had joined in the orgy of destruction that was the red terror and mostly tried to change sides.

But, changing sides in the turmoil of polemical political suppression and violence that knew no limits was not easy. Unless of course you had an brief and torrid affair with an representative of the Red Army political commissars at the right moment.

So Illona Petrayovitch Ekaterinova Romanov, decendant of both Ivan the Second and Catherine the Great gave up the family name and joined the revolutionaries of the red revolution. She became simple Illona Khotliykova, a Polish-Ukrainian girl cast into the seas of history being made in Russia.

The theory of dialectical materialism was in ascension and the violent uprising of the proletariat was going to sweep all before it in an incoming red tide, a tide of blood.

Surfing this tide was Illona as she made her way to Moscow, the centre of the turmoil, the centre of the violence and the centre of opportunity.

Now she stood, one hand on her hip and the other fingering the last heirloom of her past, the coin of Irene and Constantine, the Byzantine Empress and Emperor. Illona watched the All Russia Insurance building in Lubyanka Square being cleared of its capitalistic clutter to be prepared as the new head quarters of the Cheka.

Under her new boss, Feliks Dzierzynski, she was to supervise the conversion of the cellars and underground rooms, a job for which she was more than prepared and willing.

When the building had been stripped it was to become the hub for a Republic wide apparatus that would be designed to penetrate every corner of the society that was giving birth to a communist dictatorship.

Feliks had vision.

Illona could see where all of this was going to lead. It would lead to the cells of the Lubyanka prison overflowing within weeks as comrades Lenin, Trotsky and Stalin filled the new facility with the victims of their wrath.

Another table was thrown from a window onto the cobbles of the square!

Why?

Because it was decorated with gold leaf.

Because it had been used by capitalists.

Because it was enjoyable to destroy and difficult to create!

‘When I have finished with the cellars the occupants of my cells will curse the day that they entered my private vision of hell,’ she thought.

In Odessa she had been feared as ‘the Baroness’, here she would be more than feared, she would become a nightmare of dread in the darkness of the cells below this newly organised prison.

She would satisfy lust for power and pleasure with the connivance of the state. She knew what real torment was. It stemmed from betrayed love and perverted sex.

*** Part II

Illona surveyed her office and contemplated the files that lay on her broad desk. Now ensconced in the depths of the Lubyanka prison she had become one of the trusted servants of Feliks Dzierzynski as she worked to put his dream of social terror into practical effect.

In charge of some of the rooms of ‘special purpose’, she organised the interrogation of miscreants, political and criminal, who resisted the new polemical ascendancy of the victory of the proletariat.

Not that she agreed with all the philosophical claptrap that was now being spouted by the newly powerful cadres who used words, more words and violence to assert their superiority! But it allowed her passions free reign and it permitted her to indulge her whims in a way that even her position in the Ohkrana never had.

She enjoyed the fear in their eyes when they were brought down to the cells. The shameful cringing as they were brought for questioning. The cries as the former overlords of Russia were crushed at her command. It was this control over others that thrilled her and made her tingle with the delicious feeling that she was the arbiter of life and death, of pleasure and suffering.

But, it was dangerous here in this grey prison.

Others strived to show themselves as faithful to the cause and in doing so they endangered and betrayed those around them.

In the end Illona’s security depended on her casual but intense affair with her ultimate superior, Feliks Dzierzynski. His need to submit to her ruthless dominance was inverted in his need to destroy others and make them pay for his weakness.

So she flicked through the files with a dispassionate eye, picking victims and likely subjects from the mass of files with less concern for political correctness than finding those who would offer gratification and amusement.

Her legs stretched out under the huge oaken plank of the desk as she looked at the three candidates that she had selected for treatment. This was a joy, to decide her victims and have a whole apparatus of oppression to make whatever decision she made not only valid, but just and correct.

Pure pleasure!

Each file was a buff folder with reams of badly typed accusations and ‘evidence’ tucked inside. All three were doomed to never see the sun again because of their connections with the old regime.

Now she had to choose her victim!

First off there was Kirill Romovich Shapko. Idly she flicked through the pages and enjoyed browsing through the life that she was empowered to end. Ukrainian and an officer of the feeble White Russian army that was on the run from one end of Russia to the other.

The front page of the document listed his age and education so it was clear that he did not meet the criteria that she had set herself. He was basically just too old, ill educated and just not interestingly attractive.

Taking a stamp she marked the file as ‘complete’ on the cover and signed over the red ink with a flourish. This was a part of her satisfaction, this cold bureaucratic ending of life, a stamp followed by a signature that ended a life as surely as a bullet.

After a few minutes she laid the file to one side and struck the bell on her desk.

A moment later the door opened and a young man in ill fitting uniform entered the room.

“Comrade Piotr,” she said in a level voice, “take this file to the special tasks desk and have the prisoner dealt with by the commissar.”

Piotr took the file and nodded.

He knew the authority that Illona used stemmed from above and brooked no argument or disagreement.

“Is the prisoner to be executed?” he asked.

“Of course! He is a traitor to the Russian Proletariat and needs to be expunged immediately. Report back to me when you have passed him on to room one hundred.”

As soon as Piotr had left the room Illona moved to the next file.

This one looked more promising.

A female guest in the Lubyanka was a rarity and this one was certainly a superior example. Formerly rich and privileged, this daughter of a prince would face the special attention of the men in the Lubyanka.

In fact she probably already had.

On the other hand Illona had, at the moment, no interest in woman. There had been a time in Odessa when she had enjoyed breaking women as well as men, but those times were past. The women who had begged for release had all provided release of a different kind to the vicious but attractive Illona!

‘No!’ she thought to herself. ‘Some of the commissars and officers of the Cheka would delight in ‘interrogating’ this former member of the aristocracy and they should get the chance to do so.’

That left just Valentin Igor Fedorov, the last of the three.

For a few moments she looked at the plain cover of the file and just enjoyed the tingling that spread from her thighs to her cunt. This man was going to be hers.

He was just right!

Her hand strayed to her tight skirt and pulled the hem to her waist as she shuffled in the chair.

Fingertips touched silk.

How very decadent was the feel of the silk stockings on her thighs! Luxury that the former upper classes had enjoyed, a delicate shiny web that smoothed the white skin and made her heart flutter.

The hand slipped to the interface of silk and skin before smoothing over the already wet lips of her pussy. In her head she allowed the forthcoming events of the next few days to form a heady cloud of thoughts that made her shiver with anticipation.

The neighbouring cell would be the place where Valentin Igor Fedorov would serve and be ‘interrogated’. First he would be given hope that Illona was a woman who could possibly be his saviour.

Possibly!

There would be secret nightly assignations in which she would appear to have fallen in love with her victim. She would appear to be stricken with guilt and remorse that she was taking part in these sordid interviews.

Valentin would imagine that she might be persuaded to relent and allow him to escape; or rather that they would flee together to freedom and the West.

He would do all he could to please her mind and her body and she would drag him down to a level where he would see her as his chance of escape.

Then would follow the period of doubt...

That precious few days where the realisation that he had to obey if he even wished to entertain hope. Her body would be his shrine and she would reluctantly punish him because of her duty and her position. He would serve her like a slut, a male whore. Desperate for her approval he would abase himself at every slight dissatisfaction and strive to total perfection.

These days would be precious because it would be the time when her victim would willingly sacrifice everything to please her body. Every inch of her would crave and receive attention. From lips to the soles of her feet he would fulfil her every whim until at last the realisation would come that she was using him for hewr own gratification without the slightest intention of letting him survive.

Finally would come the end of all hope.

He would admit to heinous crimes against the Proletariat and the Soviets that ruled factory and farm. Valentin Igor Fedorov would learn to obey the basest commands to avoid the torture, subtle and overt, that Illona would apply with ever more severity.

As he became more disillusioned and lost his hope she would balance persuasion with threats and then threats with the application of pain. He would slowly give ground to her. Every orgasm that she enjoyed would be at the cost of agony to him. He would become impotent and helpless until the fear of her very arrival would shake his sanity loose from the seat of his mind.

Finally would come that concluding triumph.

The man would become a mewling slave to her. She would use him while she abused him before finally sending him to room one hundred for an end that he might well find that he longed for. He would have to plead for that end, entreat to die for her and implore to be released from her hands.

As she dreamed of her coming campaign she dipped a finger into herself and rubbed gently on her clitoris. A swelling tide of gratification swept over her; finishing with a climax that was to be just the first of many that her victim would supply.

Finally her thighs ceased their trembling and she was ready to act out her fantasies. That was the real pleasure; Illona had the power to make her fantasies real at the cost of the men that she chose.

She stood and straightened out her skirt with an outstretched palm and headed for the cell where Valentin was held. In one hand was the gold coin, in the other was the unread file.

It did not matter that her victim had done nothing, it did not matter that he was going to suffer just because she needed release. All that mattered was that he was going to feed her lust.

***

The cell was new, but oppressive.

Valentin sat on the edge of the small pallet, still dressed in the uniform of the Red Army that the file said that he had betrayed to the Western Imperialists.

When the cell door clanged shut he found that his interrogator was a beautiful woman of perhaps thirty years. He looked her up and down and decided that if he were not in the Lubyanka he would have thought her attractive in the extreme.

Tight skirt and heels!

Tailored jacket and pressed shirt.

For a moment he hesitated and then he stood and saluted.

“Valentin Igor Fedorov,” said the woman who was going to vent her lust on this naive young man. “You have been accused of betraying the Proletariat and Peasant’s army of the Soviet Republic of Russia.”

“I am not guilty,” came the reply. “I am a scapegoat for my superior officer who sacrificed me for his own benefit and to escape the consequences of his own incompetence.”

He thought that he saw a slight tear in her eye.

A trivial sign that this woman who held his future in her hands might be human enough to persuade that he was a faithful servant of Lenin.

That he told the truth.

That he was not guilty of the crimes that he was accused of.

“Duty is what calls us all to fight the capitalist enemies of the state,” she replied. “You will learn to serve the state if my decision is to judge you as not guilty of those crimes that you have been accused of.”

He could not but help seeing Illona as a savior.

How could such beauty be false?

“I will do everything possible to convince you!”

“I know that you will!”

Illona pushed her hand into her pocket and let the coin slip free of her fingers.

This was how it always started.

She looked at him, not hearing the voice, just seeing those lips that would soon be between her thighs, that tongue that would soon be searching to pleasure her clitoris.

As she bent to kiss him she felt his ardent response.

Genuine?

It did not matter, he would be hers to extinguish!

*** The End, Contact me at: MissIreneClearmont at Yahoo dot Com, Most E Mails get a reply. Irene

A Brief Historical Note.

The path and truth of history is dependent on the writings of those that decided to record the story! Oft times they had their own agenda and reason for writing and allowed those reasons to cloud the veracity of their writings.

I have taken these histories and twisted them to my own use so do not expect exact concord between my fiction and the accepted history.

Having said that you might perhaps wish to indulge in a little seeking out of the ‘real’ story. If that is the case then you can start here!

Irene, Empress Of Byzantium

Wife of Emperor Leo she had her son blinded and killed when he plotted to become the sole Emperor of the Byzantine Empire. She forced him to marry Maria of Amnia but he rejected her to marry a woman that his mother had not chosen. That was a final mistake that cost him his empire and life.

Catherine The Great Of Russia
One of the great monarchs of Russia, but not born a Russian. She was known for her sexual appetite and had lovers, selected from the court, until she was over sixty. Her reign came at a crux of Western modernization of the state and the leftovers of the Muscovite medieval state.

Illona Petrayovitch Ekaterinova Romanov
The character is half invented, the name certainly is! There was a woman known as ‘The Baroness’ who was supposed to have worked for the Okhrana (Imperialist Secret Police) in Odessa. She was known for sexual depravity and cruelty. Feliks Dzierzynski set up the Lubyanka prison and much of the Cheka, the Soviet secret police that later became the NKVD and the KGB.