My Komsomol Youth
Komsomol is an active assistant and reserve
of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union,
which is the leading and guiding
force of Soviet society...
The main task of the Komsomol is:
...to develop and strengthen in the younger generation
a class approach to all phenomena of public life...
from the CHARTER of the Komsomol.
Dedication.
I, to this day, hate all those party "sixes" and "sevens"! They are nothing in themselves, but endowed, albeit with a small amount of power, and fed near the bosses' trough, they think highly of themselves! Back then, it cost them nothing to ruin
anyone's life... To mangle and spit in the soul... I know... I am one of those who got caught in the meat grinder of fate...I was twenty, I was an active Komsomol member, and so it was no surprise that at the next meeting I was elected to the institute's Komsomol committee. I pulled my weight, handled the work, and so, as one of the most conscious, I and two other such "empty-headed" Komsomol girls were delegated to help at the district party conference. To greet guests, handle papers, and who knows what else...
There were about forty girls like us there, I think. Everyone found work. And, of course, all were pretty and dressed as if for a holiday... We did our work there and "as a reward," those who caught the eye of the "bosses and bigwigs" were invited to the concluding part. I didn't know then that's what they called their party to celebrate taking office. They seated us, five fools, in a luxurious Volga and took us to a special dacha about forty kilometers from the city. We were proud, full of ourselves! They singled us out, appreciated our work... Fools, in short, complete young fools! And upon arrival, they immediately sent us to the kitchen, and there the supply manager and the dacha commandant gave us a whole lecture: "Komsomol is an active assistant and reserve of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union." They muddled our heads, and then distributed us to assigned places. And they also informed us that the territory was guarded, and it was strictly forbidden to leave the rooms designated for work, and one could only leave this place with a special pass.
People began to leave the tables, some hurried upstairs with ladies to be alone in the "rest rooms." Some desired to steam in the bathhouse, and a few simply drank "hard." I was just amazed looking at this den of vice. And then I was called to the kitchen, and, handing me a tray with drinks and snacks, they sent me upstairs to the third floor, to the small hall, where a special meeting was taking place... And not alone, but accompanied by a "big bruiser." He took me up in the elevator and escorted me to a tall, beautifully finished door. He opened the door and I entered. I immediately noticed the thickness of the door; it seemed that even if they screamed here, it was unlikely to be heard in the corridor. Especially since I entered a vestibule, and there was another door ahead. I knocked and, without waiting for an answer, opened the second door.
The small hall was, so to speak, not a meeting hall at all... a large bright room, with a low coffee table with banquettes and soft poufs instead of chairs. On the table stood an opened bottle of cognac and a couple of glasses. While I was looking around, the door behind me closed, and I heard the lock click, cutting off my way back. I raised my eyes and saw ahead a wide double door, wide open. Behind it was another room with a large, made-up bed, what they now call sex-dromes. In the first room and within sight in the second room, there was no one. Only somewhere the sound of running water could be heard. I froze. I didn't like this at all. Putting the tray on the table, I tried to leave, but, alas, the door I had entered was locked. Not knowing what to do, I approached the table and, standing next to it, began to look around helplessly.
Then the sound of running water stopped, footsteps were heard, and a man came out of the bedroom, drying his wet head. He was barefoot and dressed in a white bathrobe. He looked at me carefully and said: "Ah, it's you — Zina! Why are you standing, sit down. I'll be right there," and, turning around, he left. I, looking after him with fear, tried to remember who he was? And suddenly I realized, the newly elected first secretary of the district party committee! The robe threw me off! Before that, I had seen him in a snow-white shirt, with a tie and an ironed jacket. And, of course, in trousers! I didn't need to be a clairvoyant to understand why I was here! Everything tightened in my chest, and instead of a heart, a tom-tom beat there. I was simply afraid of what was about to happen. In helpless fear, I rushed to the door, knocking on it and begging to open it. Tears streamed down my cheeks, I sobbed. My blows and voice only echoed around the room, and I doubt anyone heard them from outside.
And then I heard his voice: "And where are you rushing to, Zina? Do you think if you leave here now, you won't end up in another bed? I am a big shot, and they out there, my 'vassals.' Better be with me. I can give you much more than they can!" I turned sharply, he was already approaching me and reaching out his hand. I looked around like a trapped animal and rushed to the window. "It's bulletproof," came after me. I changed direction and rushed into the bedroom, he, unhurriedly, moved after me. "What are you rushing about for, like a fool! Well, I won't eat you! I'll just fuck you, that's all. Not a single woman has left me dissatisfied yet!" he proclaimed. I dashed into the bedroom, quickly looked around. No, there were no doors to the outside here. A glass door led to the shower, and next to it, probably, the toilet. And they opened outward! Deciding to hide there, I rushed there, but I was too late. He grabbed my hand when I tried to close the door. Later I realized that even if I had managed to close it, it wouldn't have changed anything! The door was flimsy and had no lock, and the inside handle was just a toy.
He jerked me towards him, and I flew out of the toilet like a cork and, sliding across the floor, collapsed onto the bed. He immediately sat on top of me and twisted my arms back. Unable to move my body, I could only kick my legs meaninglessly and wail. Sobbing at full volume now, I begged him not to touch me and to let me go. He silently tried to undress me. Have you ever tried to undress a woman lying on her stomach, with her arms twisted back, while sitting on her? Considering she's also trying to resist! Theoretically possible, practically unfeasible! But this problem can be solved more simply. He simply grabbed the collar of my blouse and pulled it down. The fabric tore, buttons scattered. In the same way, he pulled off my skirt. Frightened and demoralized, I no longer resisted when he took off my bra and the belt with panties. I understood, no one would save me, and I was here only because he "had his eye on me"! By some criteria of his own, he determined that I had "given up." "Should have done that long ago," he said. And then added: "My name is Sergei. But that's if we're alone, otherwise it's Sergei Petrovich. Now get up and go wash in the shower. I'm waiting for you!" Sergei released my hands and stood up. He watched with interest as I pulled the rags off myself, and, smearing tears on my face, trudged to the shower like a fool, covering my shameful places with my hands.
The shower itself was nice, at another time, I
He picked me up in his arms, carried me, and laid me directly on the bed, still wet. I lay there, tightly squeezing my eyes shut and biting my lip, helplessly spreading my legs and arms to the sides. His hands, like bra cups, lay on my breasts and squeezed them so hard that I cried out. He laughed contentedly and loosened his grip. Then he began to twist my nipples. Contrary to my state, I felt them swell and become hard. "No...", I tried to protest. He covered my mouth with his hand, and the other lay on my convulsively heaving stomach. Exhaling sharply, I sucked it in. And he moved his palm down and began to fiddle with the hair on my pubis. He grabbed it with his fingers and pulled it up. A sharp pain cut through my lower abdomen, and I involuntarily arched upward, lifting my buttocks. My moan was drowned in his palm. Continuing his exploration, he spread my legs, and, running his fingers along the back of my labia, squeezed them.
I was suffocating. Only now did I realize I still wasn't breathing. A convulsive sigh coincided with the moment his finger penetrated my vagina. I cried out, convulsively squeezing my thighs. He laughed and forcefully spread them apart. I don't know what's worse: undressing in front of a strange man who's staring at you or lying like this when the same man explores your intimate places as if you're a doll! Tears rolled from my tightly closed eyes, I was simply afraid to open them.
Sergei made a few soft thrusts in my vagina, and I heard with horror how everything squelched there with his movements. "Wet! Already flowing!" he stated. His finger left my hole and crawled further, stroking the inside of my thigh. My stomach tightened, and I felt everything inside me clench. And he spread my legs even wider and, mounting me, entered, no, rather burst into my womb. I was still young, had fooled around a few times, but nothing serious... Here was a forty-year-old man, with a big cock, and full of lust!...
The cry of pain, horror, and helplessness was drowned in his answering roar: "Ye-e-e-s...!" I felt how his large, hard organ was literally tearing my vagina apart! Forcing it to stretch under his furious onslaught. I had the sensation that a baseball bat had been shoved into me and was being moved back and forth, turning my flesh inside out! I screamed, and screamed until the air in my lungs ran out, and he kept going and going inside me, causing pain and suffering. What orgasm? What pleasure? Pain, fear, hatred! And pity for myself, a simple Soviet girl who sincerely believed in the Party and the people in it!
When he finished his execution, I lay for a long time on the bed, damp with sweat. And only when he poured a glass of cognac into me did I find the strength to hobble on stiff legs to the shower. And there, sitting on the floor under the hot streams of water, to cry my fill and calm down...
They took us home already towards morning. In the same Volga. However, when leaving, at the guardhouse, some guy, introducing himself as a KGB officer, took a non-disclosure agreement for state secrets. And the supply manager who brought us here explained the Party's policy towards the people in a popular way: "If you talk, you'll be out of the institute, you'll cause trouble for everyone and your relatives too. But if you understand correctly — you won't regret it. You'll have the sky in diamonds, and even with golden stars!"... There was one discrepancy, but I wasn't up to it then, and neither were the others! They brought five girls, but took away only three, battered, with faces swollen from tears, barely alive!