The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
This work of fiction was written as a way to explore some sexual fantasies. All characters in this work are over 18 years old, and the words “damsel”, "lass", “teenage”, “maiden” or “nymph” and any other such teen- or maiden-related expression all refer to characters who are 18 or 19 years of age. It's drawn from what was my second lifetime story back in 2019 when I first joined on RU as Bruiser. The basic idea is simple… A group of white men are taken, disarmed and outnumbered by a larger group of foreign men who decide to have fun with their women, and there’s nothing that can done to prevent the unthinkable from happening.
***
Siberian Express, 1923
June’s diary…
Jonathan Harker wrote in his journal, on his way to Count Dracula’s castle, that the farther East you go, the more unpunctual trains are, and he’s absolutely right! We were supposed to be gone from Irkutsk station at 8 P.M. yesterday, but we had been kept waiting for some silly reason, the locomotive operator being sick, his wife being sick or something of the kind. We only departed this morning at 7. Oh, but this turned out wonderful as we made our way near the shores of a fabled lake with crystal waters. Lake Baikal was a priceless sight, and we would have missed these myriads of diamonds of wave reflections had we passed through in night-time.
I’m quite thrilled to be on my way to Peking. I’ll get to see the bullet impacts still on the walls of the diplomatic buildings, where a group of gallant men and women fought that dreadful siege already 23 years ago, against overwhelming odds. One wonders the unspeakable things the Boxers would have done to the Europeans, their wives and their daughters if they had won, and it came so close! I shiver just to think of what dreadful fates could have been for those brave souls…
God wouldn’t allow such unspeakable things to happen to civilized people and good Christians. There seems to be some sort of invisible shield protecting us, Whites, from the horrors that so often befall to the Colored people, who need us and our civilization to guide them to a better future. Yes, science and medicine is a bright future indeed, and Peace now that horrible war is over in Europe and even in Russia too, or must I say the Soviet Union since the Bolsheviks won. Their agents always look through me with penetrating gazes whenever I have to produce my passport. They’re so intimidating! I feel naked in front of them, and the strange thing is… I secretly like this.
The Siberian Express offers all the modern comfort a civilized traveler can hope for. I’m sharing my first-class compartment with Kate, the short for Katrina, my favorite sister, and Stanley our “big brother” who is actually two years my junior. I still call him my little brother, although he now stands six feet two inches and is towering a full foot above me and Kate.
It was difficult to convince Father to let her do this exciting trip along with me, but I know how to handle Father and he gave in. Kate keeps telling me I look just as young as her. She’s being kind. There’s no way a 24-year-old woman can look as youthful as Kate, who does have the same raven hair and fair skin as I, but she looks like a spotless porcelain icon of blossoming beauty.
She’s so stylish! I have two pictures of her. One from last year when she was goofing outside as a "little lass" femme fatale last year in a park near our home in Manhattan. The other one taken a week ago in Moscow, showing her in the same funny hat she’s wearing now, looking both comical and glamorous in that dark, heart-shaped “mouse hat” and her fancy gloves, dark as the rest of her outfit, and offering me that mystic smile she’s famous for.
What’s more, today is Kate’s nineteenth birthday and I’m taking her to the dining car tonight for a special dinner and of course, a happy-birthday cake. Kate is the best little sister a girl could imagine! We’re sharing the same bunk, and it’s really nice to be sleeping together as we used to when we were just little girls, before Father became rich through his connections with Rockefeller. Oftentimes, we kiss and hug, laughing ourselves nearly to death and bugging Stanley as he tries to sleep, yet he seems to secretly enjoy watching us together in our sleeping gowns.
Our brother Stanley is travelling with us. He had insisted to come, saying we would be travelling through dangerous parts, and we needed a man with us. He means well, but honestly, if we got attacked by a hundred bloodthirsty bandits, I can hardly think of a way for him and his Colt .45 pistol to prevent our captivity as hostages. If he had read as much as I have about these regions, he would know that bandit attacks are rare, but when they do attack, they do so in overwhelming numbers, and the passengers of the hapless train can but hope and pray they will leave ere long.
I prefer not to think about what could happen to me and Kate if such a possibility did materialize. However, the train’s chief guardsman – a nice gentleman of about sixty years of age whose eyes wandered a bit south, but only for a modest tribute to my natural figure – said things were quiet in Siberia, but he recommended us to take the Trans-Manchurian Railway from Chita to Peking and thus avoid the more troublesome regions in the far East between Khabarovsk and Vladivostok, where bands of Chinese brigands often crossed the borders and were bold enough to attack the Siberian Express along with Russian villages. Just to think of myself and my beloved sister falling in the hands of such… monsters…
Oh, I ought to go to the dining car and have a coffee with some fine pastries. We have an Austrian chef who is a wizard from Vienna! This will make me feel better and safer. But I love the excitement of danger! I’m an adventuress at heart and writing a book about my voyages around the world. I think there are too many adventures and travel stories written by men about men, and always showing women as sidekicks. The world needs more female counterparts, and that’s where I come in. Oh, I must learn some humility…
We’re back from the dining car, where we had a most interesting conversation with a Russian man travelling with his three lovely daughters. He introduced himself as Yuri, a merchant from Moscow on his way to Peking for business, and his elder daughter, Alexandra, along with his twin daughters, Anna and Nadejda, aka Shvibzik which means “the merry little one”.
I tried to talk with him in Russian, but he kept speaking a flawless English that made him almost sound like a perfect English gentleman. Everything in his manners told me he was more, much more than a mere merchant, but he was quite evasive whenever I tried to know more about him and his past. Yet, he kept looking at me and smiling at me, and I could tell from the frequent glances he cast at my bosom that he was fancying me, which was morally more appropriate, from a man of his years, than if he had been looking like this at my little sister Kate.
He nonetheless showed me a picture of himself with his late wife. That picture was from 1912, when he was still in his thirties.
Whenever I asked him anything about his past life, the only thing he would say was, “We lived in St. Petersburg when the Czar reigned. Now we live in Moscow.” He wouldn’t say anything more than this laconic reply, but there was a definite sense of melancholy in his eyes, and this made him so endearing to me.
At one point during our conversation, as I was sipping my second cup of coffee, his hand touched mine, and it thrilled me more than I had expected. This man is at least 20 years older, but I feel all funny when I think of him and I look forward to see more of him. He will also be travelling on the Trans-Manchuria Railway from Chita on to our final destination.
His daughters are the archetype of what Russian beauty used to be around 1910. They were dressed in an old style, but it suited them well. There was a natural aura of aristocratic beauty about all three of them, especially Alexandra, the elder one.
Alexandra has dark hair so exquisitely styled along with such pale skin and noble features that she looks… like a princess! I’ve seen pictures of royal highnesses and there isn’t one I could think of whom Alexandra couldn’t match in grace and beauty. Yes, she’s that beautiful! I look like a Yankee peasant next to her! No wonder Stanley kept looking at her in a bewildered state of adoration, although only I could observe this so keenly since I know my little brother so well.
Nadejda kept looking at Stanley, who was hardly noticing her and her cornflower-blue eyes; the fool! Shvibzik, the “merry little one” has everything that will make a young man happy, in spades! She looks like a fairy princess who seems caught in a spell of eternal youth, yet Yuri her father told me his twin daughters turned eighteen earlier that year, while Alexandra will turn twenty-one next October. Nadejda was lively and merry and asking me a hundred and one questions about life in New York, with fascination lighting up her maid’s features of absolute softness.
Unlike Nadejda, Anna was quiet and melancholic, an effect that was accentuated by her dark, austere dress and the way she just kept looking at the passing landscapes through the window – the distant hills and the endless green grass are constant reminders of how far away from home we are. She nonetheless shares her twin sister’s blue eyes, fair hair and softness of features, although a childhood bout with the pox had left her with a bigger nose that she had difficulty living with. Anna’s hairstyle is also a throwback from the 1900’s, but in a very different way to Nadejda. She looks like some school mistress, much more like Yuri’s young wife than his daughter, in spite of her youthful features.
Kate immediately hit it off with Nadejda. They are so much alike in so many ways! Nadejda is so ungodly pretty. Silly-me felt like kissing her! I want to arrange a game of cards between the three of us.
As we all kept talking and having a great time over café-cognac, I noticed Yuri gave no signs of ending the conversation and he just kept looking at me, which made me feel warm and nice, for he’s still a handsome fellow in spite of his being closer in age to my father. He was so sweet and gentlemanly! He never made Kate uncomfortable, unlike so many men of his age and beyond. He speaks such sophisticated English that it is obvious that he’s a highly educated man. I keep thinking of him as I sit next to Kate in our compartment. I’m unable to get back to my reading of Dracula and Jonathan’s Diary. But uho! We’re coming on to Chita, already!
***
Bilguun the Fearless rode tall and proud on a high hill, where he stopped. From that vantage point, he observed the exact spot where he was going to strike. It was a place where the train would be going slow, uphill and coming out of a bend. They would derail the train, and then rob the passengers AND take some well-off hostages among the first-class passengers to hold them for ransom. The old guardsman on the Trans-Siberian was their confederate; the old man was no doubt hoping to take a rich booty for his elderly days in the prospect of enjoying a quiet retirement somewhere in China where the Soviets wouldn’t be looking for him. Good for him, but most of all, good for Bilguun and his hundred-strong company of horsemen!
Bilguun’s father had fought among the Boxers back in his day, and he had told him tales about the Christian missions they had burned down to the grown while massacring the priests. As he grew up, Bilguun started asking questions about the fate of the nuns and other women they must have found there. His father would always slap him hard and order him never to ask such silly questions again. This is how Bilguun understood what his father did to these nuns, and why his half sister had such pale skin and soft features, unlike his own high cheeks, dark bronze skin and pitch-black hair.
Bilguun was now thirty three years old, standing more than six feet tall and one of the strongest men in his homeland. He had fought the Germans in Pomerania and found great pleasure by forcing Polish women to his savage will. He would never forget that night when he and his platoon sacked an abbey and had their way with the young abbess and her nuns.
Bilguun “the Bear of Manzhouli” knew there were going to be white women on that train, and he was hard and aroused as he rode his Mongolian horse with a sinister smile on his face. Such beauty had no price, like all things truly divine. And his plan was bound to work! Capturing that train and killing the guards was going to be a cinch. He had waited a long time for this opportunity. All his men were with him for that big looting day!
TO BE CONTINUED.
