The Tale of a Real Man

Yevsey

The Germans entered the village of Malye Radunitsy in the summer of '41 without a single shot. And who was there to fight here anyway? Eight women, one old lady, and a couple of preschool kids. The Red Army had no intention of defending this former farmstead, now a collective farm specializing in pig production with the proud name "The Path to Communism."

The conquerors quickly slaughtered a couple of young pigs for their needs and, like good stewards, left the boar Borka and several sows for breeding intact before marching on. A supply unit remained in the village, assembled from prisoners of war: three men in their fifties and Yevsey Smolyakov. The men were drunkards and slackers,

the likes of which the world had never seen, so they put a capable man from a family of dispossessed and exiled peasants in charge of them. The German command pinned a corporal's chevron on him and placed three soldiers under his command to carry out tasks supplying the valiant German army with food and fodder. And the base for this was chosen to be the pig-producing collective farm.

Yevsey was a practical, tenacious, thrifty man, which his command appreciated. To give him a commanding appearance, he was issued a Parabellum in a shiny leather holster. The only thing was, Yevsey was very keen on the fair sex. But his command had no business with that. He was 32 years old, tall, broad-shouldered, with blue eyes and hair as black as pitch with a wave on his forelock. Well, what a man!

Anyutka

Yevsey walked through the village, representing the new power. And he liked it very much. He was dressed in a German military uniform: a forage cap, a tunic, breeches, and calfskin boots. On his belt, a holster with a pistol — power! He was heading to the village council, from whose door they had already torn off the name of the collective farm and ripped the red flag, faded by the sun, from the wall.

Entering the village council, Yevsey shook his head disapprovingly upon seeing an undamaged red calico banner with the slogan "Long live Comrade Stalin!" Standing on a bench, he carefully pulled down the banner, rolled it up, and threw it on the table: the chalk inscription could be washed off, and the fabric might still come in handy for something. And then he heard some sound from behind the wall in the next small room.

Opening the door, Yevsey saw a young girl sitting on a small bed covered with some coarse cloth. Next to it stood a small table and a chair. A small shelf with plywood doors was hung on the wall.

— What are you doing here?" Yevsey asked sternly.

The girl flinched in fear upon seeing his uniform and squeezed out in a half-whisper:

— I live here.

— And why here all of a sudden?" Yevsey asked in surprise.

— And why are you questioning me?" the girl suddenly answered angrily.

— Because I am the new power here now!" Yevsey replied, sprawling on a chair.

— Fascist!" the girl suddenly shouted.

— I'm not," Yevsey replied, "But you, I suppose, are a communist?!

— No, so far only — a Komsomol member!" the girl exclaimed.

— Maybe you have some document?" Yevsey asked, squinting slyly.

— I do!!!" the girl shouted, and jumping up, she took a cardboard booklet from the cupboard.

— Hey, so you're an ideological enemy of the new order, maybe you were left here for some harmful activity?" Yevsey smirked. He snatched the booklet, threw it on the table, and said sternly:

— You need to be searched!

And he, despite the girl's resistance, twisted her hands in front of her with strong twine, which he always had in his pocket. After twisting her wrists, he threw the girl onto the bed and then tied them, wrapping them behind her head to the upper crossboard of the bed. After that, he sat down next to her.

Now the girl lay before him on the bed and couldn't squirm away anywhere.

— So, what do we have here?" Yevsey asked sternly, unbuttoning the girl's calico blouse. Under the blouse, there was nothing due to the summer heat. And Yevsey happily grabbed her small breasts, ran his hand down to her navel like a proprietor, stroked her sides. He liked the girl: not plump, but not skinny either, small but full breasts.

— What are you doing, you can't do that!" the girl babbled in a whining voice.

— City prude," Yevsey thought, and out loud said in an angry voice:

— Maybe you've hidden something here?!" and he lifted the girl's skirt hem up to her navel, tucking the edge behind the skirt's waistband so it wouldn't interfere with his actions further.

She was wearing white calico panties, like tights. Yevsey, without further ado, pulled the panties down to her knees. The girl thrashed, but her hands were tied firmly to the bed, and she could only cross one leg over the other, trying to cover her crotch with her leg.

— Just as I thought, you're hiding something there!" Yevsey said with a sneering smile.

Then he got up from the bed and pulled her panties off completely. The girl blushed and turned her face away. Meanwhile, Yevsey undressed, carefully hung his tunic and breeches on a chair, then took off his undershirt and long johns. For good order, he went to the door and hooked the latch onto the staple so no one would disturb his business. Then he approached the girl, moved one of her legs aside, and sat down on the bed between her legs, so that one of her legs was behind his back, and he held the other, bent at the knee, by the thigh with his hand.

The girl finally understood what they wanted from her. Her lips twitched, and she pleaded in a pitiful whisper:

— Don't, I'm still a girl!

Yevsey looked into her eyes, stroked her thigh, and said:

— Well, so what, it's time, then, to become a woman.

The girl suddenly started crying, not loudly, just tears flowing.

— And what if no one marries me later?

— Tsk, silly!" Yevsey chuckled, "After the war, there won't be any girls left anywhere here: either the Germans will rape them or the Reds, if they return!

He spread her legs wider and began stroking her crotch, parted the labia minora and stroked the lower part of her pubis, where he knew — was the most sensitive spot for women. The girl understood that all this was inevitable and stopped whining and jerking. She just lay there with her eyes closed. Yevsey noticed that from under her buttocks peeked the edge of the hem, which was tucked in front.

— Ah, damn, I'll stain it with blood, and maybe the girl only has this one skirt!" Yevsey thought, "And if not the skirt, then the bedding — that's not right.

He let go of her legs, got up from the bed, and took a large handkerchief from his tunic. The girl opened her eyes in surprise and watched what he was going to do.

— Need to put something under you, or you'll get stained with blood," and then the girl saw his member, erect in anticipation of imminent use.

— God, how huge yours is," the girl whispered in fright.

Indeed, Yevsey's organ was strong and beautiful: about 18 centimeters long and about six thick at the head.

— It won't fit inside me, you'll tear me apart," the girl got scared.

— There's never been a case where a cunt burst from a dick," Yevsey laughed, "This isn't like giving birth. Now when giving birth, that's a different story, it happens!

Yevsey approached the girl, took her by the legs, placed her knees on his shoulders, and lifting her pelvis off the bed, slipped the handkerchief under it, folded in half. Then he knelt on the bed between the girl's legs and, wetting the head of his member with saliva, began to slowly push it between the labia into the vagina. The girl, eyes wide, watched him, not yet feeling anything terrible. But then Yevsey felt he had bumped into the maiden's barrier.

— Well, what, let's ruffle that little cunt!" he blurted out his favorite saying. And he sharply thrust his pelvis, driving his member to maximum depth. After that, he fell onto his elbows and loomed over the girl.

A squeak like that of a wounded hare escaped the girl. But Yevsey was already boldly and assertively churning in the girl's vagina, shredding the hymen to pieces. The girl cried out with each of his sharp thrusts. Yevsey hadn't had a woman for five days, and he fairly quickly felt a pulsation in the head of his member and, finally, his body exploded with a flash of orgasm. Yevsey made a few more sharp thrusts, driving his seed into the girl, after which, resting, he collapsed onto the girl with his whole body.

— What's your name, anyway?

— Anyuta.

— Well, now we're acquainted, and I'm — Yevsey.

He got off the girl, took the handkerchief from under her buttocks, and wiped the gaping vaginal opening from the flowing semen. The handkerchief was heavily stained with blood, but blood was no longer oozing from the vagina. Yevsey dabbed the head of his member with another corner of the handkerchief, then smirked and threw the handkerchief on the chair: "For you as a keepsake, after all, it's your maiden blood."

He approached the girl, straightened her skirt hem, didn't button the blouse — just draped the flaps, covering her breasts. Then he untied her hands from the bed and untied them. The girl wearily sat down on the bed and looked at him with a silent question: "What will happen to her next?"

Yevsey got dressed and sat on a chair, taking the Komsomol membership card in his hands. He opened it and read:

— Antonina Yegorovna Zakvaskina, member of the All-Russian Communist Youth League. Yes, girl, with such a booklet I should just shoot you!

Anyuta shuddered and lowered her eyes. Yevsey took a German gasoline lighter from his tunic pocket, struck the flint, and brought the burning wick from below to the cardboard covers. The membership card flared up and after a minute crumbled into ashes on the table.

— Remember, silly girl, there never was such a member of that union. I hope your own people won't give you away. Well, and I won't tell anyone about this paper.

Anyuta looked down — it was sore in her lower abdomen and disgustingly sticky between her labia. She frantically buttoned her blouse.

— And will you do that to me, every day?

— Yes, don't be afraid, it only hurts the first time, and then maybe you'll even like it. Don't be afraid, I'm telling you, I'm not some beast. In about a week, everything down there will heal. Well, then we can try again." He, of course, hoped to do it much sooner, but it wasn't worth scaring the girl.

Anyuta rubbed her wrists, which had gone numb under the rope,

— And will you always tie me up like that?" Yevsey laughed heartily, "You're really a silly one. I tied you up so you wouldn't thrash around, otherwise I could only hurt you more, and tear your clothes. But this way you're intact, your clothes — intact. Well, you're a woman now — so it happens to anyone. In short, while I get acquainted with the village, I'll live here with you," Yevsey said, as if it were a matter of course, "Not much space, but it's fine, I'll put a second bed, and we'll move the table to the big room — you don't need it here. And it'll be calmer for you — you live alone, but this way — no one else will bother you.

Yevsey sat down and thought about what he had to do next. And Anyuta sat and looked at the first man in her life and suddenly felt calm. He had, of course, raped her, but he didn't beat her, didn't insult her, promised to protect her. Not the kind she had imagined in her girlish dreams. She, born in the city and trained as an accountant, had been forced to go to this godforsaken village on a Komsomol assignment and work here as a bookkeeper. But in her dreams, she saw herself in the city, in her apartment with a handsome and necessarily educated, intelligent man. Yes, dreams are dreams.

Finally, Yevsey got up from the chair and said to her: "I understand you're completely inexperienced in these matters, if you don't want to get pregnant — go on, wash yourself downstairs thoroughly. Maybe you won't get knocked up the first time." Anyuta jumped up and went to do as told.

Yevsey left the former village council and walked through the village, carefully examining the houses and their inhabitants, who were working in their gardens and vegetable plots.

Nastasya

Nastasya was a lively, cheerful woman. Having married early, she plunged headlong into family life. She liked having her own house, tidying it up, puttering in the vegetable garden and the small orchard. She liked feeling like a married woman — a mistress. She liked washing her husband's clothes, cooking for him. But most of all she liked what happened between her and her husband when evening came and they lay down on the marital bed. After her husband Semyon made her a woman, she gave him no rest in this matter. Every evening she aroused her husband, caressing his body. Shamelessly pressed against him naked. Then she dragged him on top of her and made love until exhaustion. When her husband was too tired from work, she teased his manhood with her hand, sat on top of him and rode him until a fiery wave scorched her body. In short, she was an enthusiast, one could say, a Stakhanovite of carnal love. Her husband, seeing this weakness of hers, more than once threatened with his half-pood fist: "If I find out you've strayed — I'll kill you!" Nastasya wasn't afraid of her husband's threats, but the village men, knowing his strength and stern temper, didn't get involved with her.

And then, her husband was drafted into the army, and Nastasya, for over a month now, had been pining without her husband's affection. She had reached the point of self-gratification: rubbing her clitoris until moisture started flowing from her vagina, then inserting two or three fingers there and jerking until an orgasm twisted her body. She was ashamed and uncomfortable doing this, as her two-year-old son Kolka slept nearby. The last few days she had come up with a new trick: she chose a thicker carrot, washed it until it shone, scalded it with boiling water, and after arousing herself, inserted it into her womb and brought herself to orgasm. But all this was not it! She needed a man to caress her, tease her, knead her body, pinch her taut nipples, and then insert himself between her legs so that it took her breath away, to feel his body on her and the hot male member inside her.

Now she was tidying up in the yard of her house. Nearby, on a bench, sat Kolka playing with a wooden horse carved from a piece of wood.

Yevsey walked slowly down the street past her house. He didn't have much to do. That morning he had given his subordinates the task of cleaning the pigsty and feeding the pigs beets and potatoes, which had been prepared for this purpose. Knowing their passion for alcohol, he promised to bring them