This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copywrite and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted. This is a novel of gay sex, some of the sex depicted will be consensual, a great deal will not, some will even go well past that point into the territory of deep fetishes. If, where you live, you are underage to read this kind of material, or this material will be unlawful for you to read regardless of your age, I'm sorry but please leave now. If you are offended by gay sex, then fuck off this isn't intended for you, besides why are you browsing around here anyway? If this story is the kind of thing that pleases you and/or gets your juices flowing, then enjoy it with my blessings
We're All Capitalists Now
Chp. 1 I Return
I was so glad to be coming back to the city. I'd been gone for a few years at various postings mostly just filling in my time before retirement. Don't misunderstand me, I had always done a good job for the service and for the Party, but I'd spent too long in the basements of the headquarters down where the most sensitive and important prisoners were kept.
Most superiors on seeing my record and noting how long I'd spent there and the glowing performance evaluations I'd received for my work, looked at me askance and were uncomfortable around me. I'd arrived in those basements as a fresh faced youth, a warrant officer and risen to the rank of captain over time.
It became my legend that I could break even the most stubborn prisoners and soon have them singing like canaries. Alright, I admit it, I was good at my job and back then I believed in the importance of what I was doing. As time went on and I became both less innocent and more worldly wise, I came to two conclusions. First, intellectually, I enjoyed taking a man, especially one who was convinced that no one would bend him and breaking him down into his smallest constituent pieces. Secondly, I as I got better and better at my job, it became first a sexual surrogate for me and then one glorious day, I discovered that I didn't have to separate my job from my desire to get off. I could use my prisoners for my personal, my very personal gratification.
From the day of that epiphany on, if possible I became even better at my job and at first unbeknownst to me, my legend began to develop and build. I became known both to the prisoners and to my fellow guards as Andre the Terrible, then Andre the Breaker, and finally Andre the Destroyer. I made sure that any new prisoner heard of my sobriquets before we encountered each other. It did not hurt me if as he waited naked, chained to the wall, in the cold damp basements he contemplated just how I'd earned my nicknames before I actually arrived and went to work on him.
I especially enjoyed the college students who did not appreciate just how good they'd had it and needed to be reminded. Their tight youthful bodies were wonderful playgrounds for my increasingly more and more refined tastes. Every now and again a foreigner would come to "visit". Usually he'd been recruited on his college campus to make a one off espionage trip into the "Evil Empire". They'd been promised all sorts of rewards once they'd gotten home. They were only supposed to go to a number of "letter drops" and either pick up or leave off things. What neither they nor their governments realized then was that we had moles so highly and deeply placed that we knew of them before they even left home.
By the time they arrived here we knew their name, place of birth, course of study, height, weight, eye color, hair color and sexual preferences. We knew everything except their penis size, but that I made it a point to record (flaccid and tumescent) very quickly. Mostly they were just recorded as the innocent victims of a train or bus wreck and their ashes were sent home with a note of condolence to their family. Once a decision had been made to send home their ashes, then all restraints were removed. It was not lost on my superiors that their screams over a course of days or even (as I got better and better at my craft) weeks as I spun them closer and closer to that dread portal that had become their predetermined destination, had a most wonderful effect on all the other prisoners within earshot. Within a short time I found that by placing microphones such that that they could pick up the wretch's pleadings and cries and relay them to speakers placed throughout the basement, my work with my other subjects was greatly aided. Easily my favorite moment would always be when their last gurgle and sigh, suitably amplified, would echo through the basement followed by silence. Except for those whose last conscious experience was when I took a large and especially sharp knife and in one fell swoop, removed everything that had made him a man, they tended to scream more than gurgle. Their bags could be tanned and made wonderful tobacco or coin pouches and taking an idea from Jamaica where the penises of bulls are stretched and tanned and turned into whips, a favored few of my Agency friends would be gifted with quirts for their equestrian pursuits that once had been something quite different.
On many occasions I would be so wrought up after finally sending some wretch or other crashing through his final portal that I'd open the cell of the nearest suitable prisoner (read: young, attractive and hopefully one who had formerly considered himself strictly heterosexual) and drag his naked bound body into the center chamber, strap him to a table and then fuck him for all he was worth while he sent the cries from his rape to chase those of his now safely dead predecessor. It was always instructive to watch for the second prisoner's reaction as he'd look up and realize that the still warm corpse of the youth to whose cries and screams he'd been listening for the past several hours or days was only a meter or two away and regarding him with all the wisdom of the eyes that see no more.
Anyway, as I said, I'd developed too large a legend and the Chairman felt it was time to send me out visiting various stations and re-instilling their discipline and inclination to absolute obedience. I was promoted to major, but my identity card had that special notation that I was on the Chairman's personal staff which once shown, would make an officer many steps my superior treat me with deference.
Still, I could see the writing on the wall and knew that as soon as my time was completed I'd be pensioned off to some tiny flat to sit with my memories and await old age and its handmaiden death. That is unless I elected to beat old age at its own game and suck off my service pistol.
Then came the beginning of Glasnost and the beginning of the end of the entire system that had sustained the Agency and made it into the most feared and powerful of its kind on earth, and made our way of life possible. I took a big chance and wrote to the Chairman, himself. I sent it by our private channel and used an ultra secret cypher. Then I waited.
I had not proposed upsetting the applecart. No, I proposed using the applecart as we found it and turning it into a source of security (read: cash) for a select few members of the Chairman's closest friends and allies. Suddenly, the summons came and I was being ordered back on a private jet belonging to the Agency. I was to grab a few things, throw them into a valise and get back instanter. The wording of the communique was sufficiently ambiguous that I wasn't sure if I was coming back to explain my idea and obtain approval to implement it, or to be thrown into the very basements I'd known for so many years but this time to see them from an entirely (for me) new perspective.
I wasn't leaving anything to chance. There was a tiny glass capsule lodged between my gum and the inside of my cheek at the upper left border of my mouth that would if I bit down on it, free me forever from any worries about the basement and what went on there.
The plane landed at a small airport outside the capital which the Agency owned. A government limousine awaited me. It was driven by a delicious young sergeant.
I have always loved the trip into the city. We started out in the forests that surround the city and then bit by bit the trees began to thin and the buildings to become more frequent until the buildings had become more frequent and dense than the trees had been as we crossed the concentric rings of highways that circled this great metropolis.
If we'd had more time, or my business with the Chairman weren't so pressing, I might have instructed this sergeant to take one of the forest service tracks off the highway and into the trees and then added him to the list of young and terrified soldiers who'd learned in the back of the car, or if the weather were good, on a bed of pine needles what it was to give up his all for the Motherland.
Decades earlier Beria had done much the same kind of thing, but he had been interested only in women. The problem with raping women was that they would weep and eventually tell someone, who would tell someone else, and so on. If you made it a practice of "taking your pleasure" from virile young males, who understood both your power and had heard of your reputation for ruthlessness, there was almost no chance of being reported. To begin with most would be too humiliated by the experience of having been used as a sexual plaything by another male to ever want to tell anyone that they'd sucked cock and been butt fucked, willingly or not.
Then too, I never failed to warn them that if there were only the slightest hint of a breath of a scandal, I would not hesitate one second to use my power within the Agency to utterly crush them and their loved ones. I'd been in the service way too long not to have learned the fine art of blood curdling threat! Even though they knew that I was only a captain or later a major, they knew that I was on Headquarters Staff and someone had sent an official Agency limousine to fetch me.
Most of the drivers had considered themselves to be strictly heterosexual, but that only whetted my appetite. I had become a man of power, a man to be feared and their pale beauty was there to be used by me and then forgotten. I am, however, no fool. All my years in the basements had taught me the fine art of inquisition and I always made sure that the driver had no hidden protector or highly placed relative who would, or could, take unpleasant umbrage at my use of their darling son/nephew/son-in-law/grandson or whatever.
My driver really was quite appealing. He had the broad honest face of the Motherland, blue eyes and blonde almost white hair, a flat abdomen and looked quite edible in his uniform. But, I was in a hurry. No one could keep the Chairman waiting with impunity. However, if my interview went as I hoped it would, my driver and I would meet again when I had more time to spare.
Our world was crashing down upon itself and only a fool would ignore the warning signs. Speaking of warning signs, there certainly seemed to be a lot more military vehicles at bridges and in front of government ministries than used to be the case. Of course it had been some time since I was last in the capital, but as I watched it seemed that more and more armored vehicles were taking up positions everywhere one looked.
I had noticed and been surprised by both the amount of traffic as we neared the city's center and by the lack of deference I noticed being accorded by the other drivers to what was so obviously a government limousine. That was just one more sign, had I really needed it of the impending collapse of the Union.
I couldn't ask the driver as it would never do for an officer of field grade to admit to a sergeant that he didn't know what was going on, but it was now past the point of just being a curiosity I was observing and had become a mounting concern. Then we entered the square and there was our destination the Lubyanka, a huge pile of masonry that pre-dated the Revolution and in whose basements I'd toiled so happily for so many years. I could see armored cars and tanks that belonged to the Agency that had taken up defensive positions around and in front of it. My driver knew his job and headed us straight for our gate. We'd been identified at a distance and the gates were swung open as we arrived so we were able to drive directly in without even slowing appreciably.
The irony of my reaction to seeing the Lubyanka was not lost on me. For so many thousands, it had been an object of dread and the last outdoors vista that they would ever see. For me, it was like coming home and it held hours of very fulfilling memories, many of which were unabashedly erotic in the extreme.
The Chairman's summons had been to come and discuss my "unusual proposal" was terse and dry and open to almost any number of interpretations. So, I was going to go and make my best attempt and let the cards fall where they might. I had my tiny glass capsule in place so I would not have to suffer from being on the wrong side of the bars in the basements and there was always the chance that the Chairman and his inner circle would see the merits of my ideas and sign off on the idea.
Ah, well nothing ventured, nothing gained. Or in the words of the Great Helmsman, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." The car had come to a halt and I was pleased to note that the Agency's troops braced themselves into an even more taught attention as my door was opened and I stepped out. I was traveling in a civilian suit, but these were Headquarters elite troops and they knew that anyone alighting from an Agency limousine was some one to be respected if not outright feared. God, but I loved being back!
As I exited the car, I popped out an order to the driver to hold himself and the car ready should I need either. I know he acknowledged me, but I was already well past him and on my way into the building. There was a mealy, obsequious, greasy little man clutching a clipboard as if he were drowning and it were the last piece of floating matter to be had. He indicated that I should follow him saying, "The Chairman is a very busy man every day, but even more so today what with the coup attempt and all. The Chairman has instructed me to bring you to him the moment you arrived. This way please." The latter sentence delivered with some irritation as I'd stood rooted to the spot when he mentioned a "coup attempt". Had the Union slid so far down that we were now a Central American banana republic? Coup attempts!?
Well that certainly explained the milling crowds and the armored units moving around the city. I had to keep myself centered. I could not afford to allow anything to break my concentration on my project. Now, more than ever, I was convinced of that is was time for a small but powerful group to explore and exploit methods of making and socking away as much hard currency as possible. Certainly there could be no further discussion as to whether or not the "rainy day" for which one was supposed to save had arrived. It was here and we all needed to become Noahs if we were to avoid being drowned along with the masses.
The Headquarters offices were usually the epitome of quiet efficiency, but today they were the scene of subalterns and sergeants running about with sheaves of papers. The look of woodland does was on more than a few faces as each tried to look more important and busy than his fellows. Give me the quiet (organizationally at least) of the basements, this was just too much confusion. There I could work out all my kinks and persuade an enemy of the people to tell me everything I wanted to know and a great deal I really didn't care to know. With the proper guidance I am certain I could still get a prisoner to admit to everything from Hitler's hiding place to the name of the operative who shot Palme in Sweden and then managed to make the idiot western Europeans think it had been the CIA.
I'm sure the Agency had removed him as he was just too dangerous to have rattling about, but I would have loved to shake his hand first as his was one of my favorite operations.
We arrived at the outer office to the Chairman's suite. In place of the usual cute young women who had always in the past occupied his reception desk there was now a young man. This receptionist was experiencing a deal of difficulty with the switchboard, but instead of getting flustered he was becoming angry. He was so obviously not a secretarial type, but rather a trained agent/operative type that his presence there gave me a moment's pause. He, obviously, was intended to serve as a last barrier between any possible danger and the person of the Chairman. But as deeply within the Agency's Headquarters as we were standing was such a measure necessary? Had the coup's planners been so successful that even the Chairman had been caught off guard? Or, worse still had the Chairman picked a side and picked the wrong side? God, but I hated being outside the loop!
My guide hesitantly approached the pretend receptionist and cleared his throat expecting to be acknowledged. The agent ignored him utterly having checked him out as he entered the room and decided that he'd never constitute a danger to anybody, he went back to battling with the switchboard. My guide was prepared to stand there occasionally clearing his throat until either he was acknowledged or we all died of old age. I stepped around him and announced myself. That had an immediate and gratifying effect. The non-receptionist immediately braced himself and said, "Sir, the Chairman is expecting you. Please follow me." He cast one more dismal glance at the recalcitrant device and spun on his heel opening a nondescript door which lead into some sort of a situation room.
There were maps on all the walls and spread out on every flat surface including some of the floor. Various officers were standing about in consultations and shaking stacks of papers at each other. In other words, this was obviously the headquarters of an intelligence organization that had been caught with its pants down by the current emergency. And, the Chairman would not like that, a lot!
My new guide walked up to a back I recognized and would recognize across a city square anywhere. He braced himself and gave a very soft and shallow cough. The Chairman looked over his shoulder saw him and then recognizing him looked past him for me. When he saw me, he immediately opened into a big smile and without so much as a nod broke away from the group with whom he'd been speaking. He walked in my direction extending his hand as he approached. Once we'd shaken hands, the Chairman stepped back and locked eye contact with me. For a few seconds we each stared at the other. It was the old intimidation game, I knew it and played often myself. In just moments the Chairman threw back his head and roared acknowledging that he'd met another player and then putting his left hand on my right shoulder steered me towards yet another door which he opened while propelling me through it and then following himself.
We were now in a room outfitted with six or seven comfortable club chairs arranged so that their occupants were facing each other. I was pleased to see that he'd arranged for representatives of the High Commands of each of the most important branches of the military to be there. So, he had decided to give my proposal a hearing! Perhaps, he's even decided in favor of the proposal and has already begun the process of moving the wheels along. I thought as I again sought to keep myself centered on my task, marshalling my thoughts for this incredibly crucial interview.
The Chairman began the meeting, "Comrades," he chuckled then continued, "I suppose that form of address will go out of fashion in the near future, eh? Anyway, you've each read Andre Vasilievich's proposal. He is here at my invitation to explain it to you. I know that we've discussed it among ourselves, but I'm requesting that you hold all questions until he's finished his presentation. I notice Andre Vasilievich that you brought no briefcase. Do we need to send to your car for it?"
My God, they'd already discussed my proposal and had come along so far that they'd made the decision to go with it if I didn't shoot myself in the foot now. But, I've always done well under pressure and this should be no different.
I began, "Thank you Comrade Chairman, but I did not trust anything to paper. I stand here fully prepared to lay out my proposal and discuss what would be necessary to effect my project. First, Comrades, I'd like to thank you for giving me your time on a day which so demands your attention. I am aware of the honor you do me. While I recognize your faces, I will not use your names nor titles as I understand and subscribe to the need to maintain a "curtain of separation" between you and this project.
"As you have surely observed the Union has been deteriorating almost daily. In my estimation it has less than a year left regardless of what happens out in the streets today. This coup attempt has come too late and is obviously not receiving anything like 100% backing from the Military, the Party or the Agency. It is time for those of us who have given our lives in service to the Union to attempt to do something to provide for ourselves. There are many things, many ventures into which we can enter to soften the collapse of a way of life that has been very good for us.
"One of the commodities that the Union has in abundance is bodies, young bodies in particular. We continue to take conscripts into the military but can no longer even guarantee to feed them.
"Things have gotten so bad that we are even unable to stem the tide of information that is leaking out to the western press about our difficulties. There have been almost any number of articles in the world press about the economic straits to which the Union and its forces have been reduced. Personally, I have heard reports from those same sources abut younger smaller recruits being starved as the larger veterans have elbowed them out of the food lines in the mess halls on their bases, and some even committing suicide because of it. Then there were the reports of army units in or near large cities both in the Motherland and stationed in our allies' nations where the older and bigger veterans have forced the younger and smaller soldiers into becoming male prostitutes with the money they earn being taken by the bigger soldiers. There are many and well documented reports of naval vessels that can no longer put to sea because the sailors have moved their entire families aboard in an effort to keep them fed and housed since they cannot feed them nor pay rents on flats because they haven't been paid in months.
"I am convinced that the only reason we haven't been confronted with a series of mutinies is that everyone is still afraid of this Agency and then, too, they can see that the entire government is suffering shortages and they are not alone. So, there would be no one from whom they could successfully demand either wages or increased food rations.
"My proposal while drastic would remove some of those demanding, hungry mouths and turn a profit from them while it also removed some, at least, of the more predatory men from the ranks thus reducing the class that would be likeliest to foment mutiny and dissention.
"Basically, I propose to take one of the remotest of the abandoned gulags and reopen it as a new kind of training center. To that center we would move those young recruits and their brutalizers. The bullies would be turned into guards and drill instructors who would re-train the until now useless recruits. It would be a brutal life, but then life is brutal. The men selected to be retrained would be prepared for a life of absolute dedication. A life of service. They would become the elite bodyguards for foreign potentates, magnates, and international billionaires. Others would be prepared for a life of a different kind of service. Some would go to the houses of male prostitution in Bangkok, Singapore, and Shanghai. As they became unusable in that field they would be eliminated. A continuing supply of fresh bodies would never be difficult to maintain. Some could be sold outright to those with the money to spend and we could offer a "return policy" once an individual servant had been used up, we would take him back and give a slight discount on his replacement. That would also help to make sure that they did not become a glut on the market wandering the world talking about what had happened to them raising problems at home or with the western do gooders.
"The project would need your assistance with supplies and transportation for the first year. Thereafter the profits should more than defray any costs and such re-supply as might become necessary could be done under the cover of "military training missions". I would have to be able to go into every base within the Union and requisition the personnel that I thought would be most useful both for the base personnel for the gulag and for the fodder personnel to be transformed. Base commanders known to you to be likely to be sympathetic to this project should be asked in advance to provide a list of possible transferees.
"There would even be a sideline available in photographic porn sites on the web. The fodder personnel would, as a part of their training, and conditioning provide almost any number of subjects for the sites which would begin to make money almost immediately.
"All personnel picked for this project would be officially declared dead and their relatives notified of their demise. That would prevent scenes of mothers wearing babushkas walking in some city square holding aloft portraits of their missing sons like in Argentina or Chile. Everybody understands that there can be an accidental death. It's the disappearances the gnaw at the survivors and cause problems. There are always accidents, trucks roll over or drive off cliffs. An old barracks can catch fire in the dead of night, almost anything can and does happen and will.
"Basically that's my plan. We can take what is a liability, too many young bodies on hand each demanding care, feeding, and maintenance and turn them into sources of revenue.
"Finally, there is another source of revenue in that the medical institutions of the west are always looking for sources for spare parts for transplantation. We will have healthy young bodies at our command that could easily be harvested as needed. Locked away in the gulag, I will be able to guarantee that they will be absolutely free from drug contamination and since each will be rigorously tested before arrival the camp as I prefer to refer to it will also be free of STDs.
"Yes, this is drastic and yes, it is even ugly. The accurate name for these young people's condition is slavery. But, it will contribute to our ability to ride out this latest of storms to hit the Motherland. After all, these young men will be giving their all for the Motherland which is exactly what they swore to do when they were inducted. It's just that it will be in a form that is unconventional and has not been tried before. They will be mourned at home, their families will be honored and the defenders of the Motherland will be able to maintain our military and naval shields."
There, I'd finished my presentation and now there was silence. I waited, still there was silence. I raised my hand to my mouth, it looked as though I was covering my mouth while coughing. I moved my tiny glass capsule from my cheek onto my tongue and waited.
The Chairman looked at each of the Marshals (for that is who they were) then he turned to me and said, "Andre Vasilievich you have our full support. We're all passed the point of indulging in the luxury of turning our noses up at any revenue stream." He chuckled, "We're all capitalists now." The others all sat solemnly in their chairs nodding their heads.
The Chairman stepped to a door and summoned a colonel into the room, "Make it your business to see that the Colonel-General here, gets absolutely everything he wants. To start with, find him a working office space and as many assistants as he needs. He is working directly for me and for the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet."
I tried not to let my shock show. I doubt that the Chairman missed it, but I hoped that the colonel didn't pick up on it. I must have just had the most sudden promotion extending through more grades than any other man in the history of the Agency. The Chairman then crossed the room and said, "Yes, before you arrived, we'd decided that if this project was to have a chance of success, you'd need to have a rank sufficient to plow through nearly everybody and everything in your path. It's a brevet promotion, but you should already appear on the lists of all the branches of the military as holding that rank or its equivalent within each branch and within the Agency as well. There will also be a notation that while your project is rated an official State Secret, you have Politbureau authority to requisition anything and everything you may decide that you need and are further authorized to transfer any personnel you may feel you need from any other branch of the military or from any organization of the Motherland to your command. If that is not enough and you encounter someone of your rank or higher who is troublesome, refer him to me. Try, though, to be reasonably discrete and not order up a nuclear submarine or take so much from any one command that you create an enemy for us to have to deal with. Of course the President hasn't approved, but then it wasn't possible to ask him. Besides, right now no one knows for sure exactly where the plotters are keeping him. Anyway, we both know that he's way too busy a man to be bothered with every detail of the running of so huge a machine as the combined military and intelligence services of the Motherland. That is assuming that he's even still alive. Of course, my surveillance programs will keep me informed of what you are requisitioning and from where so you do not need to waste my time and yours reporting every day's minutiae. Keep your message traffic with me down to the absolute minimum. I will remain your contact with the others. As you see, we are capable of swift action and can be of enormous help or deadly opposition. But, then you already knew that!" he said as he slapped me on the back.
The colonel had returned and was hovering about, just out of earshot. The Chairman hugged me again and then I spun on my heel purposely and with alacrity exiting the conference room, the colonel peddling along behind trying to keep up.
End of Chapter 1