Synopsis: Greater love hath no girl…
A storm made a curtain along the paving. A waterfall-wall, carried on a rising wind, overtook the scene. Spits; spots; drips; drops; a sprinkle; a shower; each in successive succession, succeeded in succeeding till the storm’s success was certain. Forecast forewarned she raised her umbrella before the sudden summer shower could saturate her.
As the miracle that is girl wiggled hurriedly on her way, Moscow sparkled refreshed. In the rain’s reign, the streetlamp-made shadows of the night, hitherto grey dry silhouettes, became faithful mirrors on the wet sidewalk.
Her steps were confident. Their light preciseness told of training. There was audible pride in her stride. The erotic onomatopoeic poetry in the ‘click-clack’ of her six-inch heeled stilettos spoke of steps steeped in dance.
The heels dragged not. She was no sloppy slattern. One foot was placed precisely, exactly, exactingly, and entirely enticingly before the other. Her rear thus the more rolled its rampant role in magnetic attraction’s distraction.
Her raincoat showed she had two top too to complete her form. For fore within it, were two, too firm, not to be two, too restrained to escape and play fast and loose in rhythm with her dancer’s prancing gait; yet still faithfully flowing within her bra, bobbing in flowing unison with every sweet step’s gentle jar.
Before her raincoat belled out as apron over her miniskirt, her pulled tight belly-height knotted belt, showed a waist making hourglasses make haste to beg her shape. Her legs, surely starting at her shoulder-blades or higher, went to every length to show their strong long shapely symmetry.
When she heard the limousine, her head turned.
She was at a street corner. Before she stepped to cross the road in her turn, she sought to know if the vehicle would turn in front of her path.
Her eyes shone with her feline femininity. Her clothes reflected her comparative wealth. Her dark brown eyes, her nose, her cute close-cropped curly hair, and above all, her god-made lips, defined her as a divine negress.
As she stood and waited, legs soldierly ‘at attention’, did the rain, pooled-mirror on the pavement, reflect opinion upon what it might reflect, up in on the insides of her skirt? Did it too wonder if this wonderful wandering wayfarer was wearing panties?
The long sleek limousine slowed. She sensed its driver was paying homage to her beauty by letting her cross, before it turned, and sped on its duty.
The auto would have shone even were it not wet with rain. It reflected pride of place. She knew it was one of seeming hundreds teeming the Moscow streets. Every minion’s minion sought a ride inside one of these: a Zil from the government fleet.
In the evening darkness she could see the chauffeuse’s cap but not her face. As she stepped across the road to make heaven the pavement across from her present place, she let her sensational smile award the favour shown her grace.
Moments later, across the way, she smiled again at the change of mind.
The car did not turn but went past her.
Then, as a sudden wind took her umbrella and inverted it, she lowered her head to walk into the driving rain, until she could straighten her brolly once again. Lost in her own thoughts, she struggled to regain her defence against the weather.
It was only then she noticed that the car had stopped, with its opened rear door over the sidewalk. Her way forward was blocked.
As she neared, her smile was replaced by her natural proud-lipped kiss-pout. Her mind raced over her many fears. As she drew inevitably closer, a voice from within the rear seat commanded with its remark.
“We mustn’t have you both wet and late for rehearsals Natashina. I’m headed past the Dollsure. Get in”.
A sudden urge to run had to be overcome. If the owner of the voice knew her destination and her stage name: her real name, her home address, or anywhere she might try to hide was as likely known. There was no point in resisting.
As she lowered her head to enter the car, her heart was pounding in her throat. Yet tender sweetness showed in her face when she winced for the pain that must have seared the scarred visage that loomed before her.
After silently sliding her one-hundred pounds on the soft brown leather of the rear bench seat, she used two pretty hands in unison to close the heavy door.
Of course she had instantly recognised Comrade Tatiana Andropovna a hero of the Great Patriotic War, and now the head of the uniformed branch of the NGPSU - the National Girl-Police of the Soviet Union - indeed, as instantly as she next recognised the meaning, of the over-eager damp cold hand, on the smooth red-hot bare flesh above her left stocking’s suspenders-stretched top.
“Are you having your monthly bleed?” the voice asked, with apparent indifference as to the answer.
“Then lower your panties to your ankles, and sit squarely upright on the chair”.
Despite the electrically-charged eroticism from the butterfly-flutter of a pleated skirt being hauled up to expose suspenders and cheap nylon panties – and the latter’s crisp-static-crackle slide down nylon stockings to very shapely ankles - the uniformed interrogator did not turn to face her.
“Name?” came the next demand.
“Lulinka Pravda, comrade”, came the tremulous response, with the hint of lisp from the sweet negress’ lips.
“Date of birth?”
“14th of February 1956 comrade”
“So you are fifteen Lulinka?”
“Early next year comrade…”, the angel tried to joke, to relieve her fear. Though telling no more than the truth, she was terrified of seeming to correct her interviewer.
Now she had undressed as commanded, Lulinka sat herself on the seat of the straight-backed wooden chair. The wooden seat of the chair had a central upright. Middle rear, it had an inverse-saddle, made of heavily stained copper, for a very intimate part of Lulinka’s body to straddle.
And, as she sat her virginity on the sudden coldness of the seat and saddle, Lulinka let out an unselfconscious indisputably sexy gasping “Oooooh!!”: a gasp all the more seductive for its total innocence: the innocence of the supremely supersensitive tactility of the lips that caused it, and the innocence of the sensual lips that spoke its erogenous elongated single siren syllable.
The interrogator turned, and Lulinka’s lovely darkest-deep-deepest-dark-brown eyes showed pain for the scar on the otherwise handsome face that now faced her.
Comrade Tatiana Andropovna, the head of the NGPSU, could hardly hide her astonishment. The girl who had been led in and made to stand behind her, the girl who now sat in the interrogation chair, was exceptionally pretty. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was clearly fighting to keep them open, but her sheer beauty radiated from her.
Comrade Andropovna recovered her composure, and her face turned to storm. She seemed to think there was something amiss here. The girl was, or rather, just now had been, fully dressed…
“Has she spent the full regulation forty-eight hours in one of the refrigerators?”
“Fifty-two hours Colonel-General”, the escort sergeant answered confidently.
“Yes: and with total sleep deprivation?”
“Most certainly Colonel-General”, the same junior sergeant answered, with a tone, not of insolence, but with a hint that she was questioning why she was being questioned.
“Then if proper procedures have been fully met Sergeant Ninsky, why was she fully dressed just now? Was she not stripped naked for the refrigerator?
“Colonel-General….”, the poor sergeant had lost her former confidence, she was struggling to answer.
“Yes Ninsky: ‘Colonel-General’ what exactly?”
“Colonel-General…….. Colonel-General, ….. the girl is very young… we….I …. I ….. I allowed her to keep her stockings and suspenders on…”
“And? Ninsky…. from even my short experience of you, I have learned that there is always an ‘and’ where you are concerned Sergeant Ninsky? Comrade Andropovna sarcasmed.
“It was only stockings and suspenders Colonel-General: I am sorry Colonel-General: it will not happen again Colonel-General”.
The cowed sergeant, standing rigidly to attention, eyes-front, had gone so pale with fear that she appeared to be on the verge of vomiting.
It was an Oscar winning performance. There was no need for a rehearsal. Sergeant Ninsky had won promotion from this very well performed interplay. It set the scene nicely. The intention was, the intention thus achieved by the interplay. The victims, tired beyond measure by forty-eight and more hours without sleep, would be duly impressed by the severity of Colonel-General Andropovna, even with her fellow NGPSU, and dread, all the more Andropovna coming around to questioning them.
“Dismiss Ninsky: just get out of my sight!” Comrade Andropovna concluded, with a duly instructive wave of her right hand: a wave conveying despair and contempt in proportionate mix.
Comrade Andropovna now turned to the girl in the chair, who flinched away in reflexed fear.
Pushing her monocle into the eye on the scarred side of her face, Comrade Andropovna tried to hide that this lovely creature aroused her: aroused in her a conflicting mix of wanting to mother, and wanting as such: the desire to protect and yet to ravish: to gain trust and yet betray: to comfort and to take.
Lulinka, no more than a girl though she be, knew her stunning attractiveness had scored yet another heart. She carried the burden of her shear loveliness responsibly. She knew she was exceptionally attractive, and never abused the power it gave her over her fellow-females. She knew she owed god for her beauty, and the world the right to stare at her and share her heavenliness. That fact completed the triumvirate of her charm. She was beautiful of face, beautiful of figure: and, of soul, solely beautiful.
Comrade Andropovna looked at the tattered white knickers around the angel’s ankles and imagined their central essence: their essential aroma. She knew she could sell them to some capitalist tart from the west for a small fortune in US dollars, instead of useless roubles. Panties from girls interrogated at the Loveianka also went for a dollar fortune on the internal black market: a fortune in contrast with NGPSU pay that is to say.
As head of the NGPSU, Comrade Andropovna, had to be aware of and keep tabs on these things. Discipline was a major consideration. Better pay was unlikely ever to materialise; therefore the Soviet Union needed even to spy on its spies.
Comrade Andropovna now looked over the panel in front of her. A light glowed steadily green. Through the wires that led to the seat of the chair she graced, the little angel’s slit was confirming her honesty and sincerity.
Comrade Andropovna looked again at the schoolgirl. As she did so, she recalled the apt joke that was going around the NGPSU canteen; or at least the outline of the skit.
It was about some American woman tourist, who asked why all the dancers at the Dollsure Ballet were so incredibly lovely: to which the answer was a play on words the American woman could not understand.
It went along the lines of the name of the establishment really being the ‘doll-ensure’. Told in English with the words for ‘Dollsure’ and ‘Doll-Ensure’ not translated from the original Russian, the joke was in the tourist pretending she understood when she so clearly didn’t.
“You are a very pretty young lady, Lulinka; as beautiful as your momma”
“Thank you comrade”, Lulinka shyly blushed with lowered eyes.
The red light on the panel briefly flashed: so briefly that Comrade Andropovna was not sure if indeed it had, or if she had imagined it.
As interrogator, you always started with an act of kindness. You frightened the victim, then you gave them kindness. That way they would never know when you would ‘bite’ and when you would only ‘bark’.
“Your momma has been in touch. She is safe and well in London with the advance party from the Dollsure. Your friends took the call and told her you were fine and had gone to visit other friends in Petrograd, as you apparently said you would…”
“Thank you Comrade Andropovna”, Lulinka whispered sweetly, a start of tears in her eyes telling of her love for her beautiful mother.
“Your friends did exactly as we told them to do. Your friends know what is good for them. I only hope you do too Lulinka”.
“Undo your blouse and bare your breasts”, Comrade Andropovna now commanded unemotionally.
Lulinka had lived not yet fifteen years since her birth in the Soviet Union, but she knew that you never questioned the NGPSU. Although her sweet shyness bought her heavenly eyes to the verge of fresh tears, she undid her buttons, and asided her white blouse to bare her exquisite firm-soft-soft-firm brown breasts: breasts crowned by turned-up dark-brown-pink nipples with very evident tightly closed horizontal milk-holes.
Comrade Andropovna ogled Lulinka’s nipples. Was there anything about this little honey that was not entirely enticingly excitingly erotic?
As she watched, Lulinka’s bared nipples momentarily individually twitched, as if they were breathing in her admiration and beckoning her to caress them.
Comrade Andropovna rose from her seat behind her desk and control panel, and came over to where Lulinka sat.
As she lowered a cable from the ceiling above the seated girl, unravelled the tangle some previous user had left it in, and finally had ready the attachments for Lulinka’s outstandingly astounding, outstanding upstanding nipples: “This is just routine, Lulinka”, Comrade Andropovna muttered.
With forefinger to brace it, Comrade Andropovna pressed open the clip of the first attachment with her left thumb. Meanwhile, bending over the charming negress, with her right thumb and forefinger, she gently worked the little angel’s left nipple, rolling it like an Havana cigar to test its responsiveness.
The nipple showed its pleasure, Lulinka winced and gasped sexily; but then everything Lulinka did, or said, was, by definition, sexy. Comrade Andropovna gently loosened her grip on the clip, and thus attached the first sensor to Lulinka’s teat. The pleasure of attaching the other sensor to Lulinka’s right breast, was one Comrade Andropovna fought girlfully to avoid showing.
As she stood up from her pleasurable duty: “I hope that is not too uncomfortable”, Comrade Andropovna concerned, whilst regretting her phrasing had been the sarcastic throwaway she clichéd to the girls who had to be strapped to the chair Lulinka adorned: the naughty girls: the opposites of angelic creatures like Lulinka.
“We have to wire you to a lie-detector, Lulinka, it is routine. It makes for greater efficiency. The people’s electronics factories have produced this ultra-sensitive device for the female of the species.”
“The truth will never harm you. Like the truth, our little machine will never harm you either. It records your reactions to questions, and confirms to me that you are telling the truth. That is all”, Comrade Andropovna reassured the angel, wishing only to ease the crease from Lulinka’s brow, the crease caused by Lulinka’s anxiety: the crease Comrade Andropovna wished she could kiss away.
Three green lights now glowed on the panel: one each for Lulinka’s two nipples, and one for her slit. The slit light was in the centre.
Next, test questions were needed. For any ‘sensitivity adjustments’ required to the lie-detector, ‘calibration questions’, designed to check the machine and the interviewee’s relative sensitivity, were necessary.
Comrade Andropovna had tailored a questionnaire for Lulinka. She now sat in front of the panel, behind her desk, and prepared to tick the questionnaire in accordance with the lights the questions lit.
Training had taught Comrade Andropovna that the first question was of the highest importance. So she said nothing. She sat silent, and said nothing.
She looked at the way Lulinka sat with her panties, stretched wide, between her ankles, her heels turned out, her toes thus turned inwards, her lower legs in an inverted vee with her knees pressed firmly together, and her pretty hands pulling the hem of her skirt along-over the tops of her stunning thighs, no doubt to hide that the saddle on the chair was giving her slit a seductive pink smile.
Comrade Andropovna sat silent and said nothing, because that was the question. Her silence was eloquent. She watched as well as listened for her answer. This was considered a sound psychological move: to ask a question by saying precisely nothing.
According to what Comrade Andropovna had been told in her training long ago, the interviewees divided into two broad classes. Girls who were not going to cooperate, usually recognised the ploy and set themselves to outlast the silence, and be silent in revenge, long beyond its ending. They grew set in their mouths and eyes. The lights on the panel would be expected to glow a steady amber. Amber meant they were lying: lying about their innocence.
For Lulinka, the lights glowed a constant steady green, and she sat looking frightened, but intelligently aware and eager to assist; if equally to be allowed to sleep after two days of being kept constantly awake.
Comrade Andropovna ticked three green boxes on her check sheet. ‘Question 1’ concluded, she would now start in with the spoken questions.
“Are you a virgin Lulinka?”
Three green lights continued: three greens were ticked in turn.
“Are you still fully a virgin: are you fully intact?”
Lulinka lowered her head and glorious eyes in momentary shyness, and then raised her face with pride: “Yes comrade”.
The three green lights still continued: three green boxes were ticked.
“You are a very pretty girl Lulinka: do you have a steady girlfriend?”
Lulinka’s mind flashed to Nenitsky Kruchevskia, the Siberian born blonde girl she so wanted to date, but whom she was too shy to ask, and who seemed to barely notice her, even though they danced in partnership: so her: “No comrade” was a sigh of shy sadness, that also scored the three green lights’ continuation, and three green boxes ticked.
Pausing for a discrete while Comrade Andropovna asked next: “Have you ever been kissed Lulinka?” and then secretly smiled, as Lulinka’s blushing shy all too insistent “No!” was also too quick a reflex to be true, as her nipples flashed up amber lights, with her slit still showing a green, till it two flashed a momentary amber: Lulinka’s girly confusion thus being recorded and reported by the sensitive machine.
Despite the contradictory light show resulting from that question, Comrade Andropovna, still smiling inwardly, knew that that ‘no’ meant ‘yes’ and ticked three greens, before annotating a ‘yes’ at the end of that particular line, all the while wondering who the lucky girl had been.
Comrade Andropovna now knew the machine needed no adjustment: it was already at ideal ‘sensitivity-readiness’ for Lulinka.
The next question was to have been ‘is there any particular girl you are in love with?’, but Comrade Andropovna sensed that that would be too upsetting to this evidently sensitive o********-saturated teenager, and simply marked three greens and added another ‘yes’ at the margin.
“Do you know what is meant by the term ‘defection’ Lulinka?”
“Oh yes Comrade Andropovna, it is when someone evil betrays the Party and the Motherland, particularly one who leaves to live in the countries of the capitalist imperialists”, Lulinka recited, vaguely recalling the lessons at Ballet School that had bored her: the academic lessons she was too intelligent for, if truth be told: the ones she wanted to escape from to get back to training and dancing: she being such a physical girl.
As she watched and recorded the three green lights, Comrade Andropovna thought her question should have been ‘do you know what perfection is?’ rather than ‘defection’, and she should have told Lulinka to look in her mirror if she had answered ‘no’.
“The full Dollsure dance company is due in London in two weeks time, am I right?” Comrade Andropovna asked next.
“Oh yes comrade. We are so looking forward to it. We are to dance at the famous Sadler’s Wells, so named after how they used to keep the England queen’s ponygirls stabled there when Queen Henrietta the eighth was on the throne with her six wives….”, Lulinka innocently enthused, garbling her vague historical knowledge, with green lights a steady glow; even though she began to realise why the question might have been asked, and thus her sweet voice tailed off….
“Have you.. you and your fellow dancers… when you are in London… have you plans to defect to the west?”
“No!!… No NO! NO!! comrade”, Lulinka cried out with genuine shock, despite that she had known the question was coming: and the lights three, were still green.
“One of you has Lulinka. One of you has such a plan, and we have reason to suspect that it is your momma”, Comrade Andropovna all but whispered to the stunned angel.
“Your momma is not Russian by birth. She is from Ongeria. Ongeria is in the camp of the capitalist imperialists. Mother Russia gave your momma a home when she was half your age now Lulinka. Not only a home; but also her ballet training and citizenship. We suspect your momma has leanings toward the west and its superficial riches. Of course when she defects, she will take you with her…”
As Lulinka repeated her ‘No’ over and over, Comrade Andropovna looked at the tears welling and flowing from the angel’s gorgeous eyes. Was this being too cruel? Was this just revenge for that night last week in the back of the limousine with this sweet girl’s momma, Natashina Pravda: Natashina with no panties on, crossing her beautifully-powerful-powerfully-beautiful legs so that she, Comrade Andropovna, could not get her finger in her fragrant slit: Natashina turning away so that she could not kiss those oh so heavenly heaven-made lips: Natashina turning and bending as she exited the car, her ample breasts falling forward within her bra under her blouse as she spat in her face: Natashina’s incredible buttocks-waving-wide-to-wide long-leggy-legged strides as she hurricaned into the Dollsure, wild with wonderful fury?
“….ask my momma” Lulinka concluded…..
Comrade Andropovna realised something had been, and was still being said. Her erotic reverie had distracted her attention vitally momentarily. She covered for herself by looking over the lie-detector’s panel, and noting that the three lights were still a steady green.
Lulinka had passed the test with flying colours; or at least a consistent green, which amounted to one and the same thing.
“We need someone to keep an eye on your momma Lulinka: someone close to her: someone to listen out when she is in conversation face to face or on the telephone: someone in her company at the ballet classes she teaches: someone around her home outside of lessons, at her dacha when she goes for weekends or holidays: someone she would never suspect…” Comrade Andropovna began, as a lead in to confirmation of the precise intention behind the interview…
“No comrade! Oh please no!” Lulinka begged, already suspecting whom the oft referred to ‘someone’ was, that Comrade Andropovna apparently had in mind.
Although it was an irrelevance now, the corner of Comrade Andropovna’s good eye, the one sans monocle, told her three green lights backed up the schoolgirl’s sincerity.
“Lulinka, during your membership of the Komsomol …. the youth league… the lessons both at their meetings and those of the political attaché at the Dollsure Ballet School … surely you have learned that citizenship brings responsibilities as well as honours?”
Lulinka made no answer. Her lovely hands with the contrasting white palm and undersides of her long fingers, with the contrast of her exquisite blackness with the white to counterpoint and highlight it: her lovely long-fingered hands were being used, heels of palms, to squeeze away the tears from her eyes: tears she was trying so hard not to continue to shed.
“We are looking for a girl who could seduce your momma: someone to go to bed with her: someone to become her intimate lover: someone to compromise her and provide us with a hold over her. All this for your dear momma’s protection of course. We would never use it unless absolutely forced….” Comrade Andropovna continued.
At this, Lulinka did not exactly giggle with relief, but her face radiated a smile through the sadness that had reigned over her so short a while before. Now, in her thinking at least, she was assured that it was not, after all, she who was being asked to spy on her mother, her mind ran over the gallery of all the lovely girls at the Dollsure: all the pretty chicks her momma taught, and settled on the adorable face of Nikolinia Dushdawskia.
“You do realise, Lulinka… You do realise that I can have you whipped to make you give me what I want?”
Lulinka’s heavenly eyes closed. It was not a wince or a wink. Her eyelids were oppressively heavy. Deprived of any sleep whatsoever for over two days: two days of deprivation preparation to make her receptive and vulnerable for her interrogator, her eyes simply burned: two red-hot coals of total tiredness.
It was just a microsecond’s ease. Her eyelids’ insides glowed red in her sight: the red of the bloodshot that patterned her poor tired eyes’ tiny veins, and the red from the strong white light, the strong white light shone on her face by Colonel-General Andropovna: the bright white light that spotlighted her black beauty.
And, for that microsecond, Lulinka’s red eyelid-insides acted as if a cinema screen. And on that screen there played, as if a movie, the memory of her preliminary incarceration.
Her teeth chattered as she shivered. She looked exquisitely angelic. A girl of Lulinka’s own age and probably as innocent as she.
When she stood, her golden coiffure tumbled its teasing torrential torrents to the cold cell floor, joined there by her never trimmed pubic hair: pubic hair that trailed between her gorgeous legs caressing the cell floor with its conspicuously coiled copious curls: sweeping along behind her, more beautifully and more beautiful than a virgin bride’s wedding train.
She moved like a melody: her pretty legs traipsed in transport of this delight as if she were levitated. Her tight rotund bottom swang and sang siren’s songs as her hips swung as she danced along on the balls of her dainty feet as if she floated on air.
Now, as she squatted shivering, her pretty hands had hauled her hair and pubic tresses over her monumentally strong thighs. She was naked and desperate for the warmth her twice-heaven-blessed abundant girl’s curls might afford her in her deep distress.
Her protuberantly exuberantly firm tiny breasts, peaked with perfect raspberry-pink conical nipples, provocatively peeked as they played hide and seek amidst her tumultuous blonde tumbles with her gentle breathing.
“Oh come on darlin’ please! If we only wraps our arms around each uvver we can keep usselves warm!!”, Kissmeeskia Ravishmenka cried to Lulinka.
Lulinka had wanted her. The pixie’s face, so mischievously pretty, even when, perhaps even more when, as now, distorted with fear: the dainty freckles that danced on her brow: the cute turned up nose: the piercing cornflower-blue eyes: the come-hither coral lips of her tiny mouth: the sweet appeal of her slightly longer middle upper front teeth…. Lulinka longed to fall into her slim arms and share the warmth of this creature’s copious curls.
What harm could there be for two of god’s most wonderful creations to comfort each other in their deep dire need? Yet Lulinka had held back. She was shy. She had never yet even been kissed. She was a complete virgin intact and utterly chaste. But the longing to fall into the arms of this heavenly vision and make gentle love in order to keep warm, was one she could barely overcome.
The hum of the ruthlessly relentless refrigerator re-starting over again, startled the two angels to near tears of despair. The thermostat on the cell’s ceiling above their reach must have issued its order. The little remaining warmth in the two lovely girls must have raised the cell’s chill above the regulation five-degrees Celsius: the cold that eat into their sweet souls to keep them awake.
Even had Lulinka stripped off the white suspenders and stockings from her glorious black body, the grille at the bottom back of their vertical-steel-bar-fronted cage was too long to stop-up with anything. More chilled air swept over their nakedness and the two angels shivered.
Even though she still wore stockings, Lulinka’s feet were numb. Goodness alone knew how frozen Kissmeeskia’s tiny feet must be on the unyielding concrete of the cell’s floor.
“It won’t mean nuffink if we ‘ug each uvver. I won’t touchya where yer don’t oneme to”, Kissmeeskia promised, her lovely mouth with its little bunny-rabbit’s top front teeth: teeth that Lulinka longed might bite her lower lip and nibble inside her yet lower lips, lisped out.
Lulinka rose from her own erotically powerful-thighed squat, and moved toward the shivering Kissmeeskia. And Kissmeeskia rose too with her lovely slim arms out-held. But at that very second, a guard passed down the corridor of cells.
The whip-armed guard in her heavy black fur coat and hat: furs she wore against the all-pervading chill of the pre-interrogation cells, revealed a flash of hot thigh above one knee-high jackboot as she marched by.
It was only now that Lulinka and Kissmeeskia realised that there were girls in the neighbouring cell to theirs.
“Get of each other you filthy cats!”, the guard shouted as she took the neatly curled blacksnake from the hook at her hip, and readied it to use.
Her order and threat were apparently enough. Whatever had been happening next door ceased to her satisfaction, and she moved on.
For a moment, the threat of being discovered by a guard was enough for Lulinka and Kissmeeskia to desist and resist too. But nature and the incessant cold compelled.
Kissmeeskia’s pretty little hands swept back the golden curls that covered her eyes, and tried to smile reassurance to the divine Lulinka. Lulinka, despite that, in her tiredness, she saw Eden’s serpent in the tiny sweet mouth, long teeth and pink tongue of her fellow teenage temptress, moved closer, and the two angels embraced.
And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but those lips! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but that mouth! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but the softness of her curls! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but the sensationally inspirational scent of her hair! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but the sweet smell of her breath! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but her eyes! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but the smooth passage of the gentle hand over the soft flesh of her thigh! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but the press of breasts on breasts and nipples on nipples! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but the sighs! And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but each and both girls saw in their each and opposite colouration the contrast that is love with love. And love embraced love with no contrast and no contest with this the highest of loves the love of girl for girl. And black and white and white and black, in equal perfection, intermingled lovely limbs and close-pressed breasts. And their angel’s faces drew near. And their mouths drew near. And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but those lips!! And their mouths drew nearer. And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but those lips!! And their mouths hovered unsure as their eyes closed and their lips brushed. And oh god no, don’t let it happen; but those lips!! And oh god let it happen! Do let it happen god, for it must, for this is no lust; this is the purest of all love. And they kissed and the world ceased to be and only they were. And, as their lips drank the nectar of their lovely loving beings and their souls migrated and merged with the pounding of their innocent hearts and their closed eyes rolled to the heaven from whence both came and had returned, and hours and seconds and days and weeks and months and years, became meaningless measures, as timelessness passed from one girl’s mouth to the other, and the universe was renewed with hope and love, and their kiss lingered long, the bitter cold forgotten, Lulinka became Kissmeeskia and Kissmeeskia Lulinka: perfection met with perfection and two delicious too delicious confections comforted each other in their deserved bliss: the bliss of a gentle sweet living loving lovely girl and lovely girl love-kiss.
As the two girls parted after their timeless seconds of bliss, and the just ended endless perfect kiss, they smiled sweet first-love into each others eyes, and Kissmeeskia signalled her surrender by standing her lovely legs apart, so that her aroused slit, hidden among the profuse abundance of her six-foot long pubic curls, was accessible to her would-be first-ever lover.
The unforewarned crack of the guard’s whip was bitter. Its up-flicked tip hit Kissmeeskia between her parted legs, and somehow cut a path through her jumbled jungle of pubic curls, to kiss her in her slit, sundering her love-lips with a thunderous lightening lash, that made the poor girl scream and leap and wrap and clap her gorgeous thighs tight closed around each other, and squeeze them in need of kneading them and rubbing their soft smoothness together to ease the horrendous pain.
Yet after heaven came hell and then hell’s heaven. In milliseconds Kissmeeskia had broken the sweetest of sweet embraces and dropped to her haunches and was rubbing her magnificent crossed thighs together to ease the dreadful pain in her slit. Tears rolled from her eyes, as she fought, like all good girls should, not to touch herself in a naughty way, and yet. Then her eyes opened wide with her pain, and yet. Then her mouth screamed her agony, and yet. And yet she took her tiny breasts in her hands and played a melodic tune with her thumbs across her nipples: but one sweep of her thumbs across their supreme sensitivity: then her sweet mouth opened and she sighed, and cried out with pain and shame, as she came. As she orgasmed, and orgasmed, and orgasmed, she hung her head and blushed scarlet with the bitter humiliation of being such an animal; even though she was really only being pure human girl. And Kissmeeskia looked up at the gentle tender Lulinka with unseeing eyes: eyes wide with and lost utterly within the deepest pleasure, as she, Kissmeeskia, orgasmed again; and again; and again; and again; and again….
All this flashed by so quickly, that her interrogator had not even noticed the momentary closing of Lulinka’s dark brown eyes.
Comrade Andropovna was looking at the control panel. There was a sudden flash of the red light: one red light on the panel in front of Comrade Andropovna: the red light in the centre. It was a definite show this time.
It was indicative of something the Party could use. It was just what was needed right now too, but it had not been what Comrade Andropovna had expected to find; at least not so early in the interview, and not with so young a girl.
She was surprised. The girl looked so innocent. When she was older though…. The decadent west loved that kind of thing. She was, by reputation, a superb dancer. It would be a shame to order her out of ballet school to where she could learn the other tricks she needed: the tricks necessary to get her into such as the US president’s bed.
President Clitton had another term to come. She was a shoo-in for the second four-year term two years hence, and this doll would be sixteen going on seventeen by then. It was well known by the KGB, that former Senator Cleavage D Clitton loved to take virginities. Maybe that would be a suitable contingency, if the present plan did not work out. Comrade Andropovna was, of course, quite sure what her present plan was, over and above enjoying this charming creatures discomfort.
Lulinka smiled shyly: “Would one of the girls from the ballet class be what you are looking for comrade?” Lulinka queried out of the blue, hardly believing her own treachery.
“Yes Lulinka. That’s the kind of thing we have in mind, if there is some link with your momma”, Comrade Andropovna answered, as she took up her questionnaire once again.
“Your beautiful momma has the reputation of being something of an ‘ice queen’. Is she… as far as you know…. is she completely celibate?” Comrade Andropovna enquired.
“As far as I know comrade, she is”, Lulinka responded, growing a little brighter and more relaxed, despite that she was betraying her own mother.
Despite that she was betraying her own mother, this question was capable of an answer that only enhanced her momma’s sexual attraction. Lulinka was proud of her momma’s world-renowned beauty. She was only too pleased to be able to add to her momma’s mystique.
Comrade Andropovna looked at the three lights – the three steady green lights.
“But she is a woman of fire and passion. No woman can train 365/365 and dance like Natashina Pravda does, unless her mind, her heart, her soul, and, above all, her cunt are on fire. Surely there are girls she admires, girls she talks to, girls she makes love to if only platonically. Does your momma not like girls?”
“Momma loves girls!” Lulinka answered defensively, and the two outside lights flashed red for a microsecond, before all three lights glowed green.
“Okay: name one then? Comrade Andropovna challenged with the beguiling innocence of a fisherwoman casting a skilful fly on the still waters.
“Well there’s Nikolinia Dushdawskia for a start…”, Lulinka blurted out, before she realised she had betrayed a lovely loving friend from her own ballet class.
In her high stress and supreme tiredness, Lulinka had answered as if she had been in conversational gossip with a loving friend. For that fatal moment she had forgotten the bite of the clips on her nipples, and the discomfort of the copper ridge her slit straddled: she had forgotten that she was being interrogated in the Loveianka prison, the Moscow headquarters, indeed the national headquarters of the NGPSU.
Comrade Andropovna noted three amber lights. The answer had seemed wholly sincere, but the detector said that Lulinka was lying. A quick supplementary check was needed.
“Do you fancy Nikolinia Dushdawskia yourself Lulinka: do you also find her attractive?”
Poor Lulinka, only too aware of the roll-call of betrayals she had begun to indulge despite herself, paused, lowered her pretty head and sighed. A picture of the adorable Siberian beauty Nenitsky Kruchevskia flashed across her minds eye. In that instant she determined she would not betray the girl she loved, even if Nenitsky had never once returned her affection.
“No” Lulinka answered.
“No what Lulinka?” Comrade Andropovna quickly parried.
“No I do not find Nikolinia Dushdawskia attractive: not at all as a matter of fact”, she answered with a sweet pout of her gorgeous negress’ lips, and her innocent face cocked to one side as she looked at Andropovna with tired but determined eyes.
The two outside lights on the panel glowed amber. The central light flashed red: then it too went amber. Comrade Andropovna noted that Lulinka did indeed find Nikolinia attractive: very attractive to judge by the middle light, and realised Lulinka’s ‘no’ had meant ‘yes’ in the case of all the amber lights that had immediately preceded and caused the supplementary question.
“Do you wish to save your momma from herself? Will you help her save herself? Will you give us what we need to stop her defecting to the west?”
“Oh yes!” Lulinka answered, her love for her momma overcoming all doubts she might have about whether there was really a plot by anyone in the Dollsure troupe to defect.
The interrogation, brief though it had been, had thoroughly tired young Lulinka. It was not that there was a physical strain. She was supremely fit in any case, and could have withstood most stresses from that direction. But her mind whirred. She was in deep mental distress. Being arrested by a Girl-Patrol, and taken in for questioning: the looks on her friends’ faces as she was obliged to leave them and come to the Loveianka for: “routine questioning ma’am: just routine questioning ma’am”, had alarmed her.
She knew her friends would never ever ask her about what had gone on: what she had been asked: why the NGPSU had asked what they had asked. She knew they would never tell anyone that she had been arrested. Indeed, such was the fear of the NGPSU, that the fact that she had gone missing from among them right there and then that night, would be a fact unspoken: a ‘non-fact’.
Her friends would have carried on their conversation as if she had never been among them: as if it had never been intended she be with them that evening.
What had happened and what might happen to Lulinka would never be raised. No-one dare raise it. No-one among her friends knew which if any, how many, or if indeed all of them were spying for the NGPSU, and would thus report their loose talk.
No-one among her friends knew which, if any of them, might have betrayed Lulinka, or why. No-one among them would ask. No-one among them wished to be the next girl taken away by the NGPSU for ‘routine questioning’.
Lulinka’s mind fought against the notion that her momma planned to defect. Yet she knew that, if that was the plan, she would, of course, not have been told.
Obviously, any girl who knew the plan, even Lulinka, Natashina’s daughter, might betray what she knew under interrogation by the NGPSU. The worth of the precaution of Natashina not telling even her own daughter that she planned to ‘go over’ as it was termed, and take Lulinka with her, if indeed Natashina had any such plan, showed right here and now.
Right here and now Lulinka was being questioned by the NGPSU and could not betray her momma’s plan, because she knew of no such plan.
“Do you wish to save your momma from herself? Will you help her save herself? Will you give us what we need to stop her defecting to the west? Will you give us the devastating source of blackmail that would ruin her reputation if the truth of it ever came out? Will you give us that degree of hold over your momma so we may bank it, whilst letting her know we have it, and thus save your momma from the clutches of the evil capitalists?”
“Oh yes!” Lulinka answered, her love for her momma overcoming all doubts she might have about whether there was any plot to defect.
Lulinka was so tired and stressed, that she thought she had been asked this question before, or that she was experiencing déjà vu.
“To achieve the end that we both so strongly desire: to save the honour of the Motherland: to save your beautiful momma, we need some hold over her Lulinka: some scandal, preferably substantial and provable: something which, if it came out in public, would destroy her reputation; but something we would never use unless forced of course. Will you give us what the situation so clearly demands of you Lulinka?”
Lulinka smiled wanly. The fear and tiredness in her youthful eyes did not lift, but she knew, or thought she knew, that she had what Comrade Andropovna was looking for.
“Nikolinia Dushdawskia is of royal stock comrade. She is a great-grand-niece of the last Czarina. If she had an affair with my momma, treachery to the Party would be the immediate conclusion when word got out…”
Lulinka let her answer tail off. She was sure it was exactly what Comrade Andropovna was looking for. To elaborate further might take her interrogator away from the obvious conclusion: the shared conclusion that this was a ‘eureka moment’, and that the clamps could be removed and Lulinka allowed to get some feeling back into her slit, and to go to sleep… at long last to be allowed to sleep….
Comrade Andropovna’s response was devastating: “NO Lulinka!!” she shouted. “NO that will not be enough!! Are you so stupid as not to understand that there is and can be and must be only one solution to this dilemma: the solution that you yourself must and can alone supply?!!!”
Lulinka burst into floods of tears and hung her sweet face so low she could have kissed her own beautiful thighs. She was completely and utterly devastated by the brutality of Comrade Andropovna’s shouting.
“There is only one way that what is needed can be delivered Lulinka: you know it as well as I”, Comrade Andropovna whispered in a gentle tone to sooth the distraught schoolgirl”.
“Do you want to help the Party and save the Motherland from the scandal of such a high profile defection to the capitalist imperialist traitors, as would be that of your beautiful momma?” Comrade Andropovna gently coaxed.
Comrade Andropovna was skilled. She knew when she had said enough. She knew when silence could and must be the only guiding light. She let Lulinka sob and think.
But, trained, skilled, and highly experienced as Comrade Andropovna was, she was almost shocked by the suddenness with which the central light on the lie-detector’s array, went straight from green to a flashing red, to be joined moments later by the companion lights: those wired to Lulinka’s nipples: the sensors matching that sensing her sweet scented slit.
As Lulinka sobbed, sitting with her naked demurely gaped slit smiling pink on the interrogation chair, Comrade Andropovna’s upper lip, hitherto twisted to a scowl by her cruel scar, momentarily showed its original beauty as she smiled.
Lulinka saw nothing of this. By the time she looked up, comrade Andropovna was still studying the panel on her desk. Three flashing lights on that panel were alternating her monocled eye from its own light-blue, to bright-red, and Comrade Andropovna was making a final note.
“Lulinka Pravda, you are as brave as you are beautiful. You are your momma’s daughter without a doubt.”
“By that I mean not to question your birth for one second, but to sing your praises: to praise your wonderful spirit. No higher praise can be found in the whole of Mother Russia than to be the daughter of Natashina Pravda, Principal Dancer of the Dollsure Ballet.”
“You should feel no shame that you have agreed to cooperate, Lulinka. Few could have resisted our little methods of persuasion for as long as you did my dear”.
Lulinka suddenly hung her head so low in total shame, and blushed so deeply, that Comrade Andropovna walked around from behind her desk, and lifted the schoolgirl’s adorable face with a gentle forefinger under her dimpled chin.
“Although your cooperation will, no doubt, be distressful and distasteful to you Lulinka, I can assure you that you will suffer no worse punishment in your mind than that you have already undergone from the questioning you have just been put through”, Comrade Andropovna reassured.
As Comrade Andropovna turned her back and walked back behind her desk, both Lulinka and Comrade Andropovna noted the increasing frequency with which the three red lights were now flashing.
As Comrade Andropovna’s cruel eyes ran the length of her stockinged legs, Lulinka felt a renewed trickle of fresh shame-cream dribble from her slit to anoint her chair.
“Do you agree to do what your Party and you country needs, Lulinka?”
“Yes comrade”, Lulinka whispered, with fear and desire in equal strength and evidence within her innocent innocent’s confusion….
Meanwhile, amid Lulinka’s sexy heavy sighs as she hung her head in shame at knowing what Comrade Andropovna knew, and what Comrade Andropovna was after, and what she, Lulinka knew now she wanted to do, the red lights on the panel: the lights specifically monitoring Lulinka’s sexual arousal, no longer blinked: they glowed, all three glowed, steadily continuously scarlet….
Although Lulinka did not know it, the savage twist in Comrade Andropovna’s smile had told the bitter truth. Behind her smile Comrade Andropovna was trying to hide that she had just exacted the perfect revenge for Natashina Pravda’s rejection of her advances in the rear of the government limousine….
There was no plot for Natashina to defect; nor had there ever been one: at least not as far as Comrade Andropovna knew…
….After a long while with her head lowered in shame, the wholly holy innocent Lulinka looked up and her honest, honestly stunningly beautiful face, looked straight at Comrade Andropovna: straight into her eyes, and whispered: “Please let me be clear on this comrade. You want me to seduce my own momma and sleep with her…. To provide the scandal to save my momma from defection, you want me to get my own momma to go to bed with me: is that exactly right?”
“Yes Lulinka, that is right: that is, as you put it, ‘exactly right’: we want you to perform incest with your momma”, Comrade Andropovna, with her lovely smile cruelly twisted to obscenity by her eye-to-lips-long wartime-torn facial scar confirmed, as three red lights’ steadily glowed in the mirror made by her monocle…