Story from Blushes Supplement 22
Verushka can remember the very first time ever that she met Comrade Myanski: she had been finishing her training at the Physical Culture Institute, three weeks short of gaining her Instructor’s Certificate. It had been early November, and the first real snow had fallen. Comrade Myanski and the principal of the Institute had made her report to the small gymnasium at dead of night —
Yes, she can remember; how she had sweated at the work-out they had put her through, and how the cane that each of them had, had stung her bottom again and again, and how she had wept the bitter tears that those who suffer injustice weep.
And now, she has to come face to face with Comrade Myanski again —
The slanting morning sun, segmented into bright rectangles by the window, falls across the bare table top and what lies on it. The shimmering light, like a spotlight, draws the eye but the girl standing to the side of the table is not looking at what is thus thrown into such stark relief; instead she is gazing out of the window, yearningly perhaps. There are trees out there. Green, early summer trees, in the grounds of the compound and then extending probably for hundreds of miles. Birch and oak and evergreen pine. North east Russia is a land of many trees. To be out there walking free in the woods... with this same sun dappling through the greenery.
The shimmering sunlight is of course mocking these thoughts as it enters the locked window to fall on the table. What is outside might as well not exist, a figment of her imagination. For the present she cannot even walk within the confines of the high boundary fence. Comrade Myanski...
A quick, darting glance at what is on the table. The open ledger. And the cane. Long and thin, slightly curved. A cane capable almost of cutting...
‘If you cannot agree, Comrade Verushka, so be it. I could of course over-rule you, go ahead without your recommendation, but I prefer not to do that. If only because acceptance of higher authority is an over-riding requirement at every level of State organisation. Clearly you require a little instruction in that.’
Verushka Granchova looks out again at the green trees. High at the rear of her right thigh is a blue-black mark where Comrade Mysanki’s fingers had viciously pinched at the end of this statement. His hand up her short skirt at the sensitive bare flesh above her stocking top. She shivers. The vicious pinch will be nothing to what is to come. Comrade Myanski will not accept her refusal and he will keep at her until she breaks, and then probably continue because of her non-co-operation. Because although Oleg Myanski says he can proceed without her agreement Verushka knows that this is not really true. He needs a recommendation.
‘Student Comrade Olga Ivanova Smylmov has not been working to the extent of her ability. I wish the Comrade inspector to provide corrective treatment. I recommend....’
Student Comrade Olga and Student Comrade Sylvie and Student Comrade Natalia. Those three in particular but probably a couple of other pretty ones as well. That is all the Comrade Inspector wishes. It is only a little thing. A signature on a piece of paper. But if he cannot have this there is of course Comrade Instructor Verushka herself. Comrade Myanski wants the pretty students but if he cannot he can certainly have the pretty Comrade Instructor who is, at 22, barely four years older. He needs no recommendation for this, he has direct authority. And when he has broken Comrade Verushka and she has signed the forms anyway...
Verushka Nicolevna Granchova shifts her weight from one high heeled shoe to the other. She is 1.73 metres — 5’ 8" — in the white high heels, tall for a gymnast, which is partly why she has not reached the very top as a performer. But there is teaching and she is now a fully qualified instructor here at Gregianov Dance Academy far away from the distractions of city life where girls can concentrate single-mindedly on their chosen discipline. Where there are no visitors to likewise cause distraction — except of course for an occasional party official. A Comrade Inspector for instance.
A group of young women comrades can naturally have attractions for a party official. The training and education of the nation’s youth, its young women, an interest in this is nothing for an official to feel he need hide. Male officials mostly, though there is occasionally a female one too with a similar pressing interest. The Comrade Director of the Academy, Comrade Ulanova, a lady who values her post, will always accommodate an official visitor. Comrade Verushka glances at the door. The Comrade Inspector will not be long now.
The room is at the end of the corridor. Next to it is the store room where gymnastic equipment not in use is kept. So there is no occupied room nearby. No one to hear. Not that anyone would query what is to take place. A girl, or a Comrade Instructor, being disciplined is not a matter of great moment, as long as any necessary forms have been properly signed. And for a Comrade Instructor a form is not needed.
‘The end room, Comrade Verushka. Comrade Myanski will see you there.’ The Comrade Director’s voice was even, neutral, although she must have known what Comrade Myanski had in mind. But Alexandra Ulanova is a sensible woman, without foolish scruples. The Comrade Inspector is free to do as he wishes with Comrade Verushka, if she has fallen foul of him that is her own fault. Director Ulanova’s eyes had shown no emotion. ‘You know what to wear.’
Yes. A Comrade Student or a pretty young Comrade Instructor who has an interview with an influential party official wears an outfit that is smart but feminine and appealing. A short skirt to show off the legs. A tight tee-shirt to show off the upper body’s development. Further to this end there is nothing under the tight tee-shirt, no brassiere, only the nubile flesh itself. The breasts of a young gymnast need no artificial support or constraint and do not need to be hidden. For the trim, athletic legs beneath the short skirt there are sheer, seamed nylons, fastened with a slim suspender belt, and smart high heels.
Yes, Verushka Granchova knew what to wear. It is the same as she wore at the earlier interview, yesterday, when Comrade Myanski presented her with his forms for signature. Which foolishly she had refused to sign.
Somehow she couldn’t. Knowing what would happen to her, or having a very good idea, but nonetheless not able to make herself do it. Moral scruples — which a young woman in the party system could not afford to have. And anyway wasn’t it true that a senior official necessarily knew best and what he wanted should necessarily be cooperated with, even if it was...? It wasn’t only the moral scruples of course. There was Olga on his list. Sweet-faced Olga whom Comrade Verushka has that special feeling for. The thought of Comrade Myanski with her Olga...
Comrade Myanski’s hand up the back of Verushka’s short skirt as he sought to persuade her. Fingering the bare flesh, toying with the stocking top. And then the fingers digging viciously in, causing her to squeal — but not of course to twist away. The fingers had closed even more excruciatingly in on the section of flesh. The pain making her feel sick.
Somehow she had still shaken her head. ‘I... please... they haven’t...’
If it hadn’t been for Olga’s name on one of the forms the scruples would probably have been forgotten in the pain and the thought of more of the same to come. She would have signed. But she couldn’t offer him the other two and not Olga, which would have made clear her interest. That would let him go directly to Olga on that account. But there is no real way to prevent it. She will not be able to resist. Verushka knows what a cane can do. She has had the cane before. She has also seen other girls. A girl can be reduced to a gasping, blubbering wreck whose only thought is to prevent the next searing stroke...
Her mouth opens, as if she is already gasping for breath. At the same instant the door...
Abruptly, without warning. The Comrade Inspector’s rubber-soled shoes have made no sound in the corridor outside. He is all at once here. Closing the door carefully behind him. His large bulk seeming even larger in this small room. His sharp, animal-like eyes behind the glasses. His hands... which can go where they wish on her. To pinch. To do other nameless things. To wield that cane.
The glinting eyes crawling over her. ‘Sit down, Comrade.’
Sit on the plain wooden chair. Shoulders back, as you have been taught. Posture. Stick them out. Verushka is shivering though the room is hot. Say it now a frantic voice in her head tells her: I am sorry. It was a mistake, Comrade Inspector. I admit my mistake. I will sign.
But the words do not come out. Comrade Myanski is close behind her. She can sense him, her skin crawling. His hands... his hand is suddenly on her head. The soft blonde curls. Stroking. As he murmurs something. And then the hand gripping. A handful of hair. Abruptly tugging it viciously up. With a frantic yelp Verushka stumbles to her feet, to avoid her hair being yanked out by the roots. Comrade Myanski pulling her to him. Her slim back in the thin tee-shirt against the front of his jacket. His hand has left her head. Two hands come round, to take hold of Verushka’s unbrassiered tits.
‘So, Comrade.’ His mouth close to her ear. ‘We must have our lesson, eh? Insubordination. A taste of the cane, Comrade.’
Say it, the desperate voice tells her. But it is Comrade Myanski’s voice, not Verushka’s, which continues. Soft and gentle, as his hands massage her soft tits.
‘Have you ever had the cane between your legs, Comrade? Mmmm? Have you ever had that? I believe it is very painful.’
The words slowly rolling round her head. Expanding, unfolding, like an opening flower. Becoming a concept that her brain can take hold of. An unimaginable concept that Verushka can nonetheless picture.
‘I think that will be a lesson for you to remember, Comrade. Yes? Something to make you think twice in future.’ He has let go of her tits. Moving away, round the table. Leaving Verushka with that unthinkable thought. Her mouth opening but no words come out, only a whimpering sound. She seems to be struck dumb. Comrade Myanski has taken up the cane.
‘Drop your knickers, Comrade Verushka. Lift your skirt above your waist and drop your knickers.’
Her hands numbly responding. Her mind is numb too but somehow at the same time sharp, active. Comrade Myanski has said ‘down’. Not ‘off’. To do that unthinkable thing... they would surely need... to be off. He hasn’t said ‘off’.
The brief red skirt is pulled right up. Underneath are tight white knickers, and the white satin suspender belt holding her nylons. The suspender belt and nylons are of Western origin, the belt bearing the label of a Paris company. Local manufacturers are not likely to produce anything as appealing to a discerning party official’s taste. Verushka’s thumbs are in the waistband of the knickers. Sliding them off her hips. Is he going to say...?
She stops at the stocking tops. Her heart thudding. Comrade Myanski... The sharp eyes behind the glasses are on her pussy. She makes herself stand straight and still. He is going to say....
‘Get across the table, Comrade. Lie on it. On your front.’
There is almost a gasp of relief. Comrade Myanski is going to cane her bottom. Lying across the table with her knickers round her thighs it is her bottom that will be the target. Her bare bottom, the bare backs of her thighs. But not that unthinkable thing that he said.
At least for the moment.
Verushka has to grip the table’s edge. Her body is lying along the length of the table, from her head to her ripe haunches. Comrade Myanski’s hand squeezes one bare cheek. Slaps it.
‘We will start like this, Comrade Verushka. To get you warmed up. Mmmm?’
Words start to babble from Verushka’s mouth. Or what are meant to be words. ‘I will sign. Please. I will sign.’ But what comes out is an unintelligible babble and Comrade Myanski anyway does not wish to hear any recanting right at this moment. When he has got this far he certainly intends to proceed. Verushka Granchova is a lovely young specimen spread out over the table with her skirt up and her knickers down. He may prefer the 18-year-old students but this young Comrade Instructor is not that far removed from 18 herself. Caning her will be a very real pleasure. And this caning will only be the beginning...
Continued in Isolation Wing...