A Russian Valentine's Daybyddimilano©
Heading down the hall, I carefully avoided the head nurse, as neither my hair nor my blouse was regulation. Upon entering, I kept my head down and walked in casually. Looking up, I was about to speak and was then quite startled to see that he had changed into a fat, balding senior officer in for a prostate operation!
"Why, hello, dear," he said, looking up and smiling at me as he lay on his stomach, a pillow tucked under his chin. His rather large backside was propped up by the bed and exposed in the air. "Are you here for my pre-op treatment? I didn't expect such a pretty one! I will thank the general for this for sure!"
Before I could respond the doctor walked in behind me.
"Hello Nadya," he said. "I didn't know you where assigned to Col. Zainsk."
"No, doctor," I replied in a panicked voice. "I was here to check on Lt. Kirov. Has he been moved?"
"Oh, how unfortunate for him! He was released yesterday," said the doctor as he noticed my blouse unbuttoned. Looking up, he grinned. "I never knew you had such beautiful dark hair. It really complements your eyes. And just what is that wonderful fragrance?" He mocked.
Meekly, I replied, "Musk sir, with jasmine." Looking down in utter embarrassment I desperately hoped for a way out. Then it arrived.
"Sorry I'm late, doctor," said Nurse Pestovo entering in a hurried fashion, her overcoat still on. "My train was stopped for random inspection—three people forgot their papers! Such incompetence! The sergeant had to radio in for name verification. He had one man removed!" She exclaimed proudly.
I never liked Nurse Pestovo. She was a stickler for rules and regulations, always trying to impress the doctors, bucking for promotion, riding the volunteers.
"Nadya?" Noticing that I was in the room, she asked: "are you assigned to—"
"No she isn't!" The doctor interrupted. "She was looking for Lt. Kirov."
"Oh?" She asked.
"I'll be going now. Off duty soon," I muttered. Turning toward the colonel I waved and shouted, "Good luck with your operation!"
I scurried out and down the hall. My eyes swelled with tears of disappointment and embarrassment. I heard laughter from the room I had just escaped.
Spotting Nurse Pokrov at the seventh floor desk I stopped. She was always very nice to me. We had taken lunch together often. Recently engaged to a major, she was rarely in a bad mood.
"Hi Valyusha!" I said, trying not to appear upset. "Do you have a cigarette?" I asked.
"You should just go through the nurses training classes. Then you could afford your own cigarettes," she said sarcastically.
"I know…" I said.
"You know I'm just kidding you, dear! Is something wrong?"
"Umm, no. Just a little fatigued. You know how it goes."
"Did Nurse Pestovo get on you again? Just say the word! I'll tell my fiancé and he will ask General Krichev to transfer her!" She said proudly, holding her hand up to view her ring.
"No; thank you, though," I replied. "Actually…I was wondering if you could check on something for me."
"Lt. Kirov, you have a record for him, don't you?"
"Probably; he was released yesterday," she said as she scanned through the files. "Yes, right here; haven't processed the exiting paperwork yet, so it's still here." Looking at his file photo, she blurted, "Oh, he's a cute one!"
Looking up at me she took notice that my hair was down and I had more makeup on than usual. "Oh, Nadya," she said with a bright smile, "Now I get it!" Batting her eyes, she chuckled.
Embarrassed, I replied, "Promise you won't tell!"
"You know I won't!" Smirking, she handed me the file.
I quickly wrote down his address. He lived off base, fortunately, in downtown Saratov. A wave of anxiety suddenly washed over me. His apartment was near the red-light district! Again, I rifled through the file. Looking up at Valyusha I could tell she was getting nervous.
"Hurry! If Pestovo or a doctor walks by I'll get in trouble!"
There it was...his medical history. Scanning down the page I felt a bit silly, but why not? The information was right here and please—he lived right by all the bars where those…women…frequented.
Oh good! What a relief. No social diseases.
"He's clean." I stated with an air of self-imposed authority.
Valyusha broke out in laughter. "You checked that!" Laughing again, she said, "Oh, you must be serious! Well—" taking the file back, "good luck to you."
I hurried down the hall, ready to sign out for the night.
"Did you still want that cigarette?" She called out as I left.
I did not answer.
The next morning I found it difficult to rise. Wondering what to do, what with the holiday fast approaching—was I to just walk up and knock on his door? My aunt was watching the store this morning. I was not due to arrive until lunchtime, when more people left their offices and strolled down the streets for fresh air, some stopping in to have a look around and others to pick up a specific item.
Reaching over to my nightstand I clutched the paper again. It was a bit wrinkled, as I had quickly shoved it into my purse the previous evening. I had to go to him. He didn't even know yet what was going to happen. If my aunt knew, she would throw a fit. He would probably be staying home for another day or so. Most patients were not required to report for duty right after being released from the hospital.
"Good morning!" I greeted my aunt earlier than she had come to expect, surprising her a bit.
"Nadya? It's only ten," she said while checking the wall clock that hung over the granite bowl and grinder workstation—an area of the shop where I spent a good part of my day mixing and granulating different dried herbs, plants, flowers, stems, and roots.
"Didn't you work late at the hospital?" She asked, broom in hand, as she swept the floor in front of the counter.
"No. I ended up leaving at my normal time. The patient recovered quickly and was released early," I responded in the vaguest terms possible.
"Well, I appreciate you coming in, anyway. The High Priestess phoned from Penza," she continued as she resumed sweeping the floor. "She wanted to know if we had a count of how many from Saratov would be attending the Lupercan festival tomorrow night. I told her you were thinking of bringing a guest."
I stopped walking to the backroom. Holding my shawl in my arms before hanging it on the hook, I froze.
"What did she say?" I called out.
Aunt Larisa stopped sweeping, looked up, and smiled, "You know Lilichka!" She laughed. "She wanted all the details! 'How tall is he? What does he look like? Is he handsome?' Of course I told her that he was; since I doubt you would be so smitten if it were not the case!"
I chuckled lightly as I hung my shawl. Lilichka was always speaking of men that she met. She was widowed over ten years ago. I recalled the night she told me about him. A very proud man, refusing to leave Romania with the others; instead, he remained to join the Underground and fight the Nazi occupation. Two years later he was captured and shot before the Soviets were able to take the area.
Walking over toward the workstation, I was optimistic.
"I told her that he was a soldier," she added.
No longer optimistic, I had to ask, "And…what did she say?"
With much sobriety, she replied, "Well, she stopped asking questions." Looking away, she was unsure how to tell me. This could only mean bad news, I thought.
"And…" I was growing impatient.
"And she said that she would trust my judgment."
Larisa looked at me very intently. She was waiting to see if I was going to react. Also, she was trying to look for clues: Did I show any guilt, was I trying to hide anything, and, if so, what was it? I could also read her thoughts; easily betrayed by the message in her eyes.
"Now, I need you to level with me right now." She said in a very stern tone. The same tone she used with my mother; who often criticized the Old Ways practiced by my grandmother and great Aunt Larisa.
Unable to keep it from her any longer, I just let it drop, "I think he is becoming a bodark," I revealed, using the Russian word for werewolf.
Her stare had broken. Looking away, she gasped, trying to dismiss it.
Resuming the sweeping, she asked, "And why do you believe that?"
I explained the bite marks, the hair growing around them, the fully waxed moon, his extraordinarily hard muscle tone, the sharper senses, and his corrected vision.
"This happened at the last full moon?" She asked.
"Yes, near Penza," I added.
Leaning the broom against the counter, she approached me. Hands cupping the sides of my face, she looked deeply into my eyes and for a moment said nothing. I waited. Then she spoke, "Nadya…what did you do?" Not waiting for an answer she moved her hands to her hips and with a rising anger she scolded, "It was supposed to be his choice!"
I turned my back and started to pack some select herbs for a tea, then began to search for a specific plant that was no longer where I had left it.
"Where's the moonflower?" I asked with a touch of authority.
"Oh? Planning to finish the job?" She mocked.
I stood with one hand on my hip and a look of dreadful sobriety on my face. Evidently realizing that it was too late to alter my course of action, but not too late to simply make the best of it, she answered, "I moved it to the back. It was getting too much light up here."
Running to the back I found it sitting next to the incense blocks. I still had not cut them into smaller, more salable pieces. Carefully taking only one of the moonflower plants, I wrapped it in burlap and placed it in my cloth shoulder bag on top of the herb tea ingredients. Grabbing my shawl, I headed back out to leave through the front door.
"Not staying?" She asked, not expecting an answer. Before the door could close behind me, my great Aunt Larisa asked with a slight smile, "Oh Nadya?"
I looked back.
"Is he fair?"
Returning her smile, I answered, "Belarusian," and then left.
Walking over to that part of town wasn't as bad as I had expected. Late morning did not draw out too many undesirables. Most of the taverns were not even open yet and most of the patrons were still sleeping it off from the night before.
The old bakeries were open. I could smell the bread and rolls; the old man in the window of one waved at me. I smiled, unable to wave, as I held my shoulder bag close with one had and my shawl closed with the other. He held up a loaf of bread, encouraging me to come in and try some; perhaps even buy, but I continued to walk.
Around the corner now and down the hill, the road was brick and shining. It had rained early this morning. The grey cloud cover prevented the Sun from drying it up. It was a bit cool still. Mid-February was never very warm here, but my thick shawl helped a lot. It was heavy wool, burgundy with tasseled trim. My grandmother made it herself and my mother gave it to me when I started to work nights at the hospital.
Looking at the address again, I was glad when I reached the bottom of the hill. One right turn past the old warehouse and I should find his building. It was brick, old and at the corner. I went in and was horrified to find his name listed on the highest floor in a building that had no elevator. I then removed my shawl, climbed seven floors up, knocked, and waited.
Fortunately, he was not used to opening the door to a sweaty woman with her chest heaving with breath. He appeared a little shocked and taken aback, but so was I. He now had a beard, golden and beautiful, but full and about three inches long. His shirt was off. The definition in the cut of his muscles was impressive, but he looked bigger, and there was much more hair than just two days earlier.
Breaking the silence, I said, "Hi. I heard you were released, so I brought a few medicinal plants that I thought would help."
"I feel good," he said. "But come on in! I'm very glad to see you again—just a little surprised, that's all."
Closing the door behind me, he took the shawl from my hand, as well as my bag, and put them on the dining table. "I'd offer you something but all I have is the beef I bought yesterday. Usually I eat on the base."
"Oh, that's okay. Do you have a teapot? I can make you…us…some." I opened the bag and showed him the dried herbs that I brought from the apothecary. Not sure what to make of all the plant life in my shoulder bag, he halfheartedly agreed.
Spotting the pot on the stove, I emptied the water into the sink and started some fresh water boiling.
"Have you been lifting weights lately?"
"Not really—I just started again today. I couldn't believe it. I benched twice what I used to, but I haven't lifted since before that night in the forest. I'm certainly not complaining, but I can't understand why I feel so much stronger now."
Okay. Now let's see what he has to say about the hair growth, I thought.
"I like the beard! You didn't have that when I last saw you. Did you?" I asked.
"No." Stroking his face, he proudly continued. "I shaved the day you saw me. This is just two days!" He walked up behind me as I was steeping the tea into the large thick mug I found in his cabinet. Placing one arm around my waist while his other hand pulled my hair over and off my shoulder, he nuzzled his chin into my neck.
"Do you like it?" He cooed in my ear.
"It tickles!" Giggling, I turned. Holding me around the waist, he pulled me closer.
"I never kissed you hello," he said, his mouth drifting toward mine.
Oh! I thought, here it comes! Our lips connected and tongues intertwined. It was soft, but more forceful than at the hospital; there was much more confidence in this one. It tickled again.
"I have an idea!" Still holding on to him I continued, "I'll trim your beard! Do you have a pair of scissors I can use?"
"Yes, so you don't like it? It's just that it came in so fast—"
"Oh no, I like it a lot." I said while brushing his face with one hand. "I'll just trim it so it's more kempt. Sit down here and have some tea."
I wanted to trim it before the tea kicked in. One side effect of slowing the transformation process was drowsiness. Once asleep, he would remain that way for a while.
Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, then scissors off his desk, I returned. "It looks like you were writing a letter?" I asked.
"Yes. My father lives back in Minsk. He's a factory manager. He doesn't travel much, so I was just telling him about Saratov."
"He must be very proud of you," I said, encouraging him to talk as I snipped away. "Was he in the army, too?"
"Yes, in the early part of the war. He was injured in Poland. He spent the rest of the war working in a munitions factory. Then, afterward, his old commanding officer wrote him and asked if he wanted to run a textile plant."
"Well, that was nice of him," I said, tilting his chin up a bit.
"Yeah, he was the same guy who recommended me for officer training school. I might not have been a cadet if it were not for him. My dad saved him from a German grenade blast. Dove on him and pushed him out of the way. That's how Dad's leg got hit with shrapnel."
"Well he was quite a hero then!" Looking proudly at my work, I announced, "There…now it looks more like you grew a beard on purpose instead of just deciding not to shave anymore!"
"Hey! I thought you liked it."
"Oh, I do." Kissing him again before I gave him his tea the ingredients of which were charged enough to slow his transformation process a bit, but not stop it.
"Oh, that's right, you're the sassy one!"
"I am not." I said while protruding my lower lip and moving my hips.
"Yes you are!"
Turning around, I teased. Hands on my hips, I pushed my butt out a bit, cotton dress clinging to my form, I replied: "I'm not sassy!"
Reaching around my waist he pulled me onto his lap. Tickling my ribs and pinching my backside, he offered the anticipated retort, "Yes, you are!"
"And this is what you get!" Flipping me over his lap he held me down and began to spank me. It didn't really hurt; it was mostly just a shock. I had never been spanked, even when I was young and my parents told me that I had misbehaved. He just continued while telling me how sassy I was! It was a very different sensation; not simply physical, it had an emotional impact as well.
I began to feel very vulnerable, at his mercy; I did trust him. If he wished to take advantage or harm me he had already had plenty of opportunity since I had arrived. I could tell that his intention was something other. It did sting a bit, but what I felt most was the sense of vulnerability, defenseless, unable to stop him—along with strong overtones of arousal.
So I played along.
"Ouch!" I shook my legs, feet in the air. He pulled my hair back with one hand and spoke closely to my ear.
"You better stop trying to get away. It will just be worse for you." I let my legs down and whimpered.
"Now, pull your dress up and out of the way," he said in a reserved tone. I hesitated. "Right now, I said!"
Allowing me to stand, I reached down and began to raise my dress. Looking at him intently, I stopped. Noticing my hesitation, once again he cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow in expectation. He smiled and waited.
Looking down I slowly raised my dress up and over my stockings. Stopping again, I looked at him. Viewing me in approval, he reached out and touched the exposed flesh above my stocking. Looking up into my eyes he said, "Higher dear…all the way up now."
I smiled and up it went. He breathed deeply.
"You're getting musky again, sweetheart." His hand slid up to the dark patch of hair showing through the whiteness of my panties. Rubbing softly he felt the moisture seeping through the thin lace fabric.
He continued. "Yes, I think you are a sassy one indeed. It's time you get back over my knee." He tapped his leg as I noticed once again the strength showing in his biceps and chest, his stomach cut with tones of muscular display, golden hair forested about.
Without hesitation I knelt over his lap. Holding my dress up high, I obeyed.
"Ohhh…Aren't you being good now! See what a good spanking will do for you?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "Now…I remember a sassy girl who pulled a blanket all the way down with out even asking! So, we will just have to do without these!"
Pulling my panties down to my knees, he snickered. I gasped.
He began to rub the cheeks of my bottom, kneading them, commenting on their roundness. Occasionally allowing them to spread open, I felt waves of shame and excitement.
Pulling back on my hair again he said, "Such pretty dark hair. I think you're ready to finish your spanking now. Don't you agree?"
Another tug on the hair. "Nadya…"
"Yes," I panted.
"Yes what?" He asked.
"Very good." Petting me, the spanking continued.
"Well…aren't you all nice and pink now." He said while rubbing my backside. I think you may have had enough. Did you learn your lesson?"
"Yes! Yes I did!" I exclaimed.
"Well, there is only one way to know for sure." He parted my legs and without warning, inserted his finger inside me. I yelped, and then shamefully moaned. Grinding my hips into his hand, I pushed harder.
Chuckling a little, he said, "Well, you sure learned something!"
I stood up and removed the rest of my dress, then my brassiere. Allowing my panties to fall to the floor, I untied the rope on his athletic sweat pants and reached inside.
"So what lesson did you learn?" He asked.