Chapter 13: Blood In The Cellar

The Soviets carry out the murder of the Romanovs. Very dark chapter with acts of necrophilia. There is no pretense at detailed historical accuracy.

At the Cheka's regional headquarters in Yekaterinburg, there was a beautiful samovar made of silver. It once belonged to an old noble family. Its finely polished body had resonated with the shrill screams of maidens being gang-raped before it was pillaged out of the mansion it had passed the last hundred years in.

A similar one stood high and proud beside a jeweled egg and a gramophone on a table of oak in the office where worked and slept Yakov Yurovsky, the commandant of all guards of the House of Special Purpose, where the said office was. His thick and dark goatee beard gave him an air of dark, mysterious authority that was not lessened by his abundant hair. He presently sat at this table with his right-hand man, Pyotr Ermakov.

"I agree with the order," Yakov said as he just read the dispatch from the Ural Soviet. His cup of chai waiting for him.

"Me too," Ermakov replied while sipping his own chai. "Although it's a shame to have to execute the daughters as well! Why can't we keep them as prostitutes?"

"I'll have none of these shenanigans, Ermakov! I've already dismissed and replaced half the Lithuanians and nearly all the Estonians along with this drunkard of Captain Tarvydas! Thanks to his boys, two of the daughters are now pregnant. The youngster, Anastasia, was already this way when she first came here, since she displayed symptoms as soon as three weeks ago, but her sister Maria is now nauseous as well and I managed to torture Doctor Botkin and, after the removal of three of his fingernails, he finally confessed that Maria had missed her period. So this alone compels us to dispose of them."

"Why? I understand the boys may have preferred the younger daughters and..."

"Shut up and listen!" Yakov said as he drank a sip from his hot chai and explained the situation. "It's a matter of international legitimacy. The European powers already see us as a bunch of brigands wearing uniforms. If they got wind of the Grand Duchesses being abused to such a degree that two of them turned out pregnant, then it would be so much worse! And the entire people of Russia would turn against us! We can't have this! We can't allow them to live. The enemy is almost at the door! The Czech Legion is getting so close! They'll be here in a week, ten days at the most! No, we must kill them all. The Ural Soviet is right."

"How do we go about this? We take them to the forest and dispose of them? I know a bunch of friends who..."

"No! This gang of yours will only want to rape the girls, and then they'll likely want to keep them alive and use them some more, and then the Whites will eventually rescue and free them, or at least there's a high risk for this. Even a single Romanov heir still alive poses an existential threat for us. No! The job must be done clean and efficient. Right here! Yes, the back room. It's a half basement. We will gather them back there, every last one of them. They'll have nowhere to run and the gunshots shouldn't be heard too much if I have a truck stationed nearby with its motor running. The truck will then be used to transport the bodies and bury them somewhere in the forest. Your buddies will come in handy for the burial job."

"They won't be too happy to see the girls already dead!" Ermakov replied. Yakov struck the table with his fist and finished his chai.

"Pyotr! This is the most important mission of our career! If we botch this job, we'll be executed as well! So you better do as I say. To the hell with your buddies! We need men we can trust for this execution! Five to eight men on top of us for the firing squad, then at least ten more for the burial. Do you know a good spot for this?"

***

The next day, on 16 July, Yurovsky was informed by the Ural Soviets that Red Army contingents were retreating in all directions and the executions could not be delayed any longer. A coded telegram seeking final approval was sent at around 6 pm to Lenin in Moscow. No answer came back.

At 8 pm, Yurovsky sent his chauffeur to acquire a truck for transporting the bodies, along with rolls of canvas to wrap them in. The truck was to be parked close to the basement entrance, with its engine running, to mask the noise of gunshots.

Yurovsky and Pavel Medvedev, another of his aides, collected 14 handguns to use that night: two Browning pistols (one M1900 and one M1906), two Colt M1911 pistols, two Mauser C96s, one Smith & Wesson, and seven Belgian-made Nagants. The Nagant revolver operated on old black gunpowder which produced a good deal of smoke and fumes.

While the Romanovs were having dinner on 16 July 1918, Yurovsky entered the sitting room and informed them that kitchen boy Leonid Sednev was leaving to meet his uncle, Ivan Sednev, who had returned to the city asking to see him; Ivan had already been shot by the Cheka. The family was very upset as Leonid was Alexei's only playmate and he was the fifth member of the imperial entourage to be taken from them, but they were assured by Yurovsky that he would be back soon. Leonid was kept in the Popov House next door beyond the high palisade. Yurovsky saw no reason to kill him and wanted him removed before the execution took place.

That evening, the sunset was especially vivid with crimsons and a flurry of fiery pinks painting the crowded clouds, making them sing like a heavenly chorus with silent notes from a devil's accordion that puffed up their gathered masses with legions upon legions of ghastly shapes in glorious lights, all of it heavy with light over a darkening landscape of forests while Yeketerinburg and her church spears and belfries were bright like burning bronze in a world of orange light.

In his commandant's office, Yurovsky assigned victims to each killer before distributing the handguns. He took a Mauser and a Colt .45 pistol while Ermakov armed himself with three Nagants, one Mauser and a bayonet; he was the only one assigned to kill two prisoners (Alexandra and Botkin). Yurovsky instructed his men to "shoot straight at the heart to avoid an excessive quantity of blood and get it over quickly." Some of the men grinned and Yurovsky rebuked them and told them this was the most solemn duty of their life.

At least two of the Latvians, an Austro-Hungarian prisoner of war named Andras Verhas as well as Adolf Lepa, himself in charge of the Latvian contingent, refused to shoot the women. Yurovsky sent them to the Popov House for failing "at that important moment in their revolutionary duty". Neither Yurovsky nor any of the killers went into the logistics of how to efficiently destroy eleven bodies. He was under pressure to ensure that no remains would later be found by monarchists who would exploit them to rally anti-bolshevik support. The risk was very real.

***

Yakov Yurovsky's thoughts...

Around midnight on 17 July, I ordered the Romanovs' physician, Eugene Botkin, to awaken the sleeping family and ask them to put on their clothes, under the pretext that the family would be moved to a safe location due to impending chaos in Yekaterinburg. I didn't like the idea of executing people in cold blood, but it was something that had to be done, like cutting an old tree whose roots are threatening your house.

Ermakov was there, as drunk as that thick ball of black curly hair sits black on his head. Drunk, with his hair gunpowder black. Armed with the four pistols he took earlier that night. Grigory Nikulin stood there, as tall and professional as usual, and sober, along with Pavel Medvedev and four other men, who looked trustworthy enough, although I didn't like the way they kept looking at the daughters as the family walked across the stately dining room.

I told Nikulin that he'd be my assistant for tonight's task. I heard the truck's engine start, and this had two of the daughters smiling as they did believe they were to be moved. The daughters were each carrying a dog. My heart sunk as I realized I'd have to kill them as well. I quietly ordered the men to stay in the dining room and wait five minutes. Only Nikulin followed me after the Romanovs.

I ordered the Romanovs into the semi-basement room I had chosen for the execution. All the family, their physician, their maid, their cook and their footman walked on. The former Czar Nicholas looked at me, all his past authority gone from his eyes. He was looking at me as a father concerned for his family.

"For a photo shoot," I said, with a grin. I hated myself for lying, but it had to be done. If they suspected anything, they'd panic and it would result in a chaotic mess where the girls would be more likely to be taken to their bedroom and raped than be shot, which would lead to a host of complications I wanted to avoid at all costs. If one of them survived to tell the tale, the Revolution could be lost.

For one thing, I strongly suspected them to be hiding a large quantity of gems and jewels sewn inside their clothes. It was a miracle that none of the guards didn't discover at least some of them during all the groping that must have happened. Good thing I had changed most of the guards, again.

It was a rather large room, with a yellow wall that looked suddenly sickly to me with those vertical stripes of bluish gray, with, to my right, double doors that led to the small garden in the backyard; doors that had of course been shut. As the family and their servants took their spots for what they thought would be a photo shoot, they stood facing us with their backs to the wall. Nicholas and his wife Alexandra wore expensive clothes that were street-clothes to them, but looked glamorous to us.

The same could be said of the travel dresses worn by the daughters. Anastasia presently let go of Jimmy, her spaniel, as her arms had got tired. Joy the cocker spaniel, sat at his master's feet, Alexeï, the boy who would never live to become a tyrant after his father.

I wasn't sure, but I felt Anastasia's belly looked a bit larger than two weeks before. I couldn't tell which was the most amoral thing between what had happened to her during her trip to Yekaterinburg or the fact she just turned seventeen and was to be murdered to-night. Murdered! Executed. I must not falter at this most important moment of my duty to the Revolution. Long live the Soviets!

There were only myself and Nikulin in this cellar room. I told citizen Nicholas to wait a little while they were having "some slight trouble with the Kodak". Grigory Nikulin presently whispered to me that "the heir wanted to die in a chair."

"Very well then, let him have one," I replied. While a chair was being brought to Nikolaï, I then told the prisoners to wait in the cellar room while the truck that would transport them was being brought to the House.

"But... but didn't we hear the motor of a truck just yet?!" said the valet Alexei Trupp, his eyes now filled with distrust and fear as he looked at me.

"We had some trouble with this one, so we're bringing in another one, an American brand, and this one will also be more comfortable, with a good suspension for the bumpy road ahead," I lied. I caught sight of the former Tsarevitch, who now sat with his dog on his lap. A pity to have to kill such a beautiful animal! Maybe if it ever survives I'll bring it to my house; my wife loves dogs. Maria my loving wife... These daughters are so pretty! Especially Maria Romanova. Which girl isn't pretty at nineteen? I know my men will try a way to rape them. I'm doing my best to prevent it.

Nicholas and Alexandra are looking straight at me, as if reading my thoughts. My hand goes into my frock and caresses the comforting handle of my Colt pistol. I hear footsteps behind me. Ermakov is suddenly there. With the five others.

Citizen Nicholas and his wife turn ghastly pale as they realize this is NOT a photo session.

I go into my revolver pocket and take my execution paper. I read loud with a voice meant to be powerful and strengthening in my grim resolve to carry out my task.

"Nikolai Alexandrovich, in view of the fact that your relatives are continuing their attack on Soviet Russia, the Ural Executive Committee has decided to execute you."

Nicholas, facing his family, turned and said "What? What?"

I quickly repeated the order and the weapons were raised. The gunshots were deafening in this enclosed space. I feared for my ears as I rose my American pistol and shot Nicholas four times through the chest and he fell back as the women began to scream. I saw Anastasia right behind him holding her belly with both hands while Alexandra was shot through the head by Ermakov. She had been signing herself.

Grand Duchess Olga tried to sign herself, but she fled in panic amid the chaos and tried to open the locked doors as bullets struck the wall near her.

Tatiana also ran for the double doors. Ermakov shot and hit her in the leg.

"God damned! I missed!" the intoxicated man said. Then he aimed at the young Tsarevitch and shot him to the chest from point-blank range. The boy fell from where he had been sitting in his chair while hugging his cocker spaniel. The dog fled between my legs while the other dogs retreated to a corner of the room and kept barking as the shooting went on and the caustic smoke began to thicken. All the men were now lying on the floor, each one apparently amid an expanding pool of blood. Anastasia was also lying down motionless while Maria knelt near her and began to pull her hair while screaming in panic.

I sent Alexey Kabanov, who ran onto the street to check the noise levels. The gunsmoke was now stinging my nose and prompting me into a mood where I felt like doing things I wouldn't normally do. The men kept shooting, but it was clear they kept missing the daughters on purpose.

"The youngster's dead. Too bad! I wanted her," said a man, Oleg Klokov.

"Yeah! But there are three left," said another man, who turned out to be Nikulin. Nikulin?!

The smoke and the noise were getting unbearable. Alexey Kabanov came back and said he had heard the dogs barking and the sound of gunshots loud and clear despite the noise from the Fiat truck's engine. We had to stop firing and kill the family and their dogs with our gun-butts and bayonets. Anyway, the smoke from the burnt gunpowder and the dust from the walls were now so thick that we barely could see our targets anymore.

"Stop firing! Hold your fire!" I shouted.

As the gunshots stopped, we heard the cries and whimpers from the girls, along with moans from a dying man. It was the footman, calling for his mother. Oleg walked to him and silenced him with a bayonet through the throat while the three remaining dogs kept barking like crazy. The dogs were swiftly dealt with by no less than four men, with bayonets. Tatiana screamed as she heard Ortipo being slaughtered. I hated this!

"Why can't you just die, little bastard?" Ermakov yelled as he fired another shot into Alexeï's torso. Then he tried to skewer him using a bayonet, but even this failed. I tossed him aside, aimed and shot the boy through the head with my Colt .45. Strangely enough, at this very moment, I remembered reading about an Olympic shooter by the name of Ivan Sidorov in the newspaper, a long time ago, during the summer of 1900, as my bullet left a clear hole in the boy's forehead and convinced his body to go to sleep, soon on an expanding blanket of blood.

"Let's get the girls!" Ermakov yelled as he charged forward into the thick smoke, in Maria's direction, while Pavel Medvedev and others went looking for Olga and Tatiana, whom I saw through a clearing in the smoke; she presently sat against the damaged wall, holding her wounded thigh. Both girls let out screams. It was a different kind of screaming as they were being grabbed, although I could barely see anything in this smoke that just wouldn't settle. I ordered my men to unlock and open the doors to clear this out.

I had to open the doors myself as the men grabbed all three girls like sex-starved monkeys! Only death was sparing the youngster from this.

As I opened the doors, I saw the maid, Anna Demidova trying to protect herself by holding a pillow over her face, her back to the wall. But Nikulin grabbed her by the hair and shot her through the head. The woman fell as her blood splattered a surprisingly large area of that sickly yellowish wall.

"This one's too old! Let's take our pleasure inside the surviving girls!" Nikulin said. He bitterly disappointed me!

"Naaaoooooo! Noo! Please just kill us!" I heard Maria beg. Her voice! So lovely...

"Do as you please with us! But please don't kill us!" Olga pleaded.

"Not so proud now, aren't we?" Ermakov said somewhere amid the smoke. "Now leave your little sister, she's dead. Lie down and show us your tits!"

"AAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NNNAAAOOOOOOO NOT THIS AGAIN!!! AAAH AAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHRRR RRRRRHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AA NNOOO..."

Maria's screams were painfully filling the room. The whole street must be hearing her! We had to kill her at once!

"Get it done quick!" I shouted. But my voice got lost in a new kind of chaos. I heard some grunting amid girly whimpering and it was clear that some girl was being raped somewhere in this caustic smoke that just wouldn't abate. I noticed I had a raging erection and kept thinking of Maria. Not my wife. Maria Romanova, nineteen springs. It is not every day that a forty-year-old bloke like myself can fuck such a young lady for free. I hate to admit it, but that's when my own discipline failed!

I walked to where Maria kept loudly protesting and found Ermakov in the act of tearing her dress-top open while Kabanov was holding her arms above her head. Ermakov then strained against her sides and he was a strong man. The corset's busks came off the hooks right away and her corset was opened from the front. Intoxicated by a rush of lust, I helped Ermakov in freeing Maria from her corset.

And then, with a wild grunt of victory, Ermakov tore her nightgown wide open. The loud sharp sound of the tearing fabric will always ring to my ears as I will always remember the ghastly sensual sight of Maria Romanova's breasts being revealed to me, like the softer side of an old regime it was my duty to kill. My erection went insane! Painful!

I watched Ermakov as he hastily undid his trousers and forced himself inside the screaming girl while Kabanov kept holding her wrists together on top of her screaming head. Both men smiled down on her, their eyes devouring her, their faces half-clown, half-demon. Only then did I notice her dress had already been tucked all the way up her waist.

She screamed even louder and shriller when Ermakov entered inside her.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhrrrrrrrrrrr yeahhh!" the drunkard uttered as he began to pound the poor girl, who now screamed at the top of her voice, shaking her head in frantic refusal while Kabanov laughed at her while holding her wrists.

Ermakov raped her while propping himself up on straight arms so he could admire the non-stop shaking of her head along with the cock-stiffening grace of her perky breasts, their cream paleness as the smoke began to dissipate, the delicate paleness of dancing nipples on top of these jiggling breasts that would soon be no more. What a pity I had to kill and also destroy such a body! And I was now dying to give it my semen.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" Ermakov yelled as he exploded inside the former Grand Duchess.

"hhhhnnGGH NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNhhmmmm!!!" I heard someone utter. A man who was exploding inside Olga or Tatiana. None of the surviving daughters were spared from having their dresses tucked up to their waistline. I tried hard to convince myself I had some morality left by pretending to believe that Anastasia had not been shot by accident.

"Yes! Yes! Let's rape all their women! Let's fuck their women!" I yelled as I hastily moved in onto Grand Duchess Maria and the splendour of her breasts while Ermakov already stood and was now re-buttoning his trousers.

Facing Maria, I felt her inner thighs against the sides of my frock and regretted not having taken it off. It was now too warm and I was sweating like a pig. No time to waste! The girl kept screaming like a madhouse case while Kabanov kept holding her wrists together, his eyes silently urging me to get it done quick. My entire body was moving by itself. I abused my own status of authority and plunged onto her breasts and began to suck them! Her ever-moving nipples had the taste of deity being profaned as I her soft flesh yielded under my hands. It felt as if her breasts were shrieking because I was profaning them. A golden chain was loose on her upper chest where Ermakov had pulled off a golden cross. Brigand!

"Let's take our turns inside them!" I shouted before I was silenced by some cathedral walls that suddenly got very narrow and enclosed myself inside a tiny tight cell of pure pleasure. I was inside Maria Romanova! Raping her! "Let's rape all their women! Yeah! We won! We won! We won! Yeaahh! Yeah yeahh yeahh yeh yeehh aahrraa yeahhh..."

I was in a rage! Rape! That's all I could think of. Maria's breasts! Jiggling under me. My arms tensed as I kept raping her and enjoying the lovely motions of her pale breasts that moved to each of my commanding thrusts, snowy tits between white curtains of profaned royalty, as I soon reached my edge and yelled one beast of a cry, feeling the deep guilt of cheating on my wife with the wrong Maria, just as the blissful pain tore me in two and I couldn't do anything but scream my bliss as I bred her! Her and her nineteen springs! Half my age! Twice my usual load.

My legs were in rubber, quite wobbly, as I stood beside Ermakov and watched Kabanov as he raped Maria. From behind. He had rolled her around in all urgency and was now lying upon her and raping her while grunting like a rutting deer where she lay on her stomach. The collisions on her buttocks made slapping sounds that I found weirdly fascinating. One of the dead men, the cook, lay quite close, and the pool of his blood now reached Maria, who kept crying and whimpering under the barrage from Kabanov and his satisfied grunting. I was hypnotized by the spot where his peasant's lap kept meeting the curves of her buttocks amid the dark chaos of her tucked-up dress.

"Well, boss," Ermakov said, "none of the Grand Duchesses will die a virgin. We made sure of that!"

The smoke had cleared enough for me to witness Olga's and Tatiana's rape in progress. I could imagine how the girls must have frantically tried and failed to enter inside the damaged wall and go through it as they were grabbed and their dresses were soon tucked up along with their gowns underneath, tucked up high enough to uncover their butts. I remembered having heard slapping sounds and it must have been these slabs of flesh getting slapped in a mocking gesture. Now they were being gang-raped while their parents both lay dead.

Olga was whimpering loud, her wrists held together in front of her as three men held her bent over, and the third man, Pavel Medvedev, presently took his pleasure where she stood. "Yes, yes, do all you please with us, but let us live!" Olga kept saying while she kept being shaken by Pavel's enthusiastic thrusts. He kept holding her tossed-up dress against her waist and kept feeding her with deep thrusts, his grunts saying aloud he had been wanting this to happen.

"Naaa naaaa! Naa nieet!!!" Tatiana kept uttering as she was herself raped the same way, except she was down on all fours and the man holding her waist was bragging he was raping her for the second time in less than five minutes!

"Right down her ass chimney this time!" the man blurted out as he got touched by the gods. "UU-uuGGHH!!! aaAAAHH! So good to use them!"

As soon as he was done, the other man knelt down behind the once-dignified girl, and had his way with Grand Duchess Tatiana Romanova of Russia. "Naa! Naahhaaah! Naaahhh..." she uttered as she got penetrated deep and hard inside her ass!

"AAAA AAAAAAAA AAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

This was Kabanov as he died inside Maria.

Taken by a second rush of anticipation, I threw away the cigarette I was halfway through and sank down on my knees next to Maria's exposed butt where she still lay on her stomach. The poor girl was in tears, understandably so.

I licked this lovely butt! Nineteen! She was just nineteen! Aahh! The butt of a young lady! A girl I would normally call "young lady". I became crazy-mad as I licked, licked and licked those buns of vast heavenly skin! Maria's butt was now my world!

There was a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Nikulin, with worry in his eyes.

"Commandant, it's been almost twenty minutes. We must close the deal!"

"Yeah!" I said with reluctance. Then I rolled Maria over and was once more hit by the dazzling sight of her breasts!

I remained on my knees and masturbated like a madman over Maria's cream-white breasts. Her pale nipples offering me a world I would never belong to. The girl was in tears. She looked at me with a mix of hope and disgust as I masturbated and soon entered the kingdom of no return.

"Aaaaah aaah aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGDDJJHHHHHUU..."

I loved the sight as my raging bolts of semen landed in a glossy heap on her profaned breasts! The ruins of her gown on each side reflected the urgency of her final rape.

"Good idea, boss!" Ermakov said as he also sank to his knees and soon gave another steaming load of jism to the crying girl. "Aaaaaahhh... So good to give her the icing on the cake! All right! Let's get going!"

And without even bothering to re-do his trousers, Ermakov pulled out his Mauser pistol from his belt, and against orders he fired twice right between Maria's breasts. After the deafening sounds, I saw the dead girl shed one final tear, her eyes half-closed as if surprised in her hope to live on as a prostitute and the mother of a bastard child. I didn't dare to look at the bloody mess of her bosom where her blood was now mixed with my own semen. Who would have thought a Grand Duchess could die like this?

Another man also acted against orders. With his cock still out and flaccid, he shot Tatiana in the back of her head after she managed to get up and once more tried to flee through the wall she was facing. She made almost no noise as she fell, while Olga was silently bayoneted through the throat by Nikulin.

Twenty minutes! We could have dispatched all of them much faster. The backside of our souls had other plans.

"All right!" I said. "Make sure they're all dead, and load up the bodies in the truck! The Romanovs are dead. Long live the Soviets!"