The office of the investigator of the NKVD Osipov made a depressing impression. Shabby walls, poor furniture. Actually, from the furniture in the office were only a table, a safe and two chairs. More precisely, a chair and a stool screwed to the floor.

- Sit down - the investigator nodded on the stool.

Konstantin Nikolaevich hardly put his ungainly legs under the table. The stool was screwed too close to the table. Obviously so that the arrested could not in one fell swoop jump off her and rush at the investigator.

“So you don't want to help the organs, Konstantin Nikolayevich?” - Osipov continued, the conversation started in the apartment.

- Why? Of course I want. Like any Soviet person: - Konstantin Nikolayevich involuntarily looked at the portrait of a dark-haired, mustached man, in whom, with imagination, Stalin could be recognized. “I wonder where that unfortunate artist is now? In Solovki? "

An echoing, in an empty office, the blow of a fist on the table brought him to his senses. No, relax, there should not be.

- And what did you, dear Konstantin Nikolayevich, find funny here? You know, in this office people rarely smile! - the investigator looked at him with the eyes of an angry cat - Your beautiful spouse was also detained. I think she is more willing to give testimony to your favorite director. Although I was with him in a close relationship! And you did not know?

Konstantin Nikolayevich visibly turned pale.

- It's a lie! Paradise is true to me! And gossip: Gossip went different ... I do not pay attention to them - it is not worthy of a man.

Osipov looked at the detainee for a long time, as if with curiosity. On the person with whom to work. Yes, it is necessary to break it, not to take it to the arap. Strong type. Proud. We have seen such proud :.

- So you do not believe? Love your wife. It's good. And you do not want to talk about the anti-Soviet activities of the person who instructed you in the horns. You do not want?

- I can not talk about what was not:

- You can! - suddenly the investigator shouted - “Here we are saying everything about everything!”

- Hooks! - a security guard appeared in the office, a healthy fellow with a sleepy facial expression

Osipov did not take his eyes off Konstantin Ivanovich.

- Kryukov, deliver the detainee to Raisa Stepanov in: uh: - he theatrically hesitated - in our office - with a sofa. And look who is there, in the guard is free: Man ten will be typed? Do it!

- What do you:? You: - Konstantin Nikolaevich did not find words - How dare you ?! Yes you:

The room with the sofa had the same shabby walls, but it was much more spacious. Konstantin Ivanovich struck a pungent smell in his nose. Vodka, tobacco, strong peasant sweat. And something else. The smell, it would seem familiar and, at the same time, a stranger. The smell of sexual intercourse - suddenly realized Konstantin Nikolaevich. Only intercourse is not pure. Dirty unwashed bodies leave such odors. The smell of rape, bullying ...

Along the wall, on chairs, sat about eight guards. Muddy, drunk eyes. Wet, lustful smirks. A minute later, Konstantin Nikolayevich was tied to a chair. Muzzle Kryukov straightened his glasses.

- That's the way to see better! - sitting by the wall amicably neighing.

Osipov theatrically waved his hand. Two guards left the room.

As if in a fog, Konstantin Nikolaevich saw how his camera was entered into the camera (after all, it was the same camera, not the room!). A confused look and an inappropriate dress here, fitting the slim figure of beginning actress Raisa Smirnova, looked ridiculous for the assembled executioners. Their friendly giggle barely reached the consciousness of Konstantin Nikolayevich.

- Not:. You do not dare! There is a law: - this time, his babbling was interrupted by a weighty slap.

- What are you doing?! Kostya! - the woman rushed to her husband, but she was stopped with calm, habitual movements. Trying to escape, she suddenly realized what was about to happen. Eyes full of despair looked at her husband.

- Kostya, do whatever they want: Kostya:

- I can not, Rajachka. He is not guilty: how can I:?

- Well, enough! - Osipov, got up and walked around the camera - You can not? But we can!

The woman, according to the sign of the investigator, was brought to her husband. Two guards, smiling, held her hands. Osipov put his hand on Raisa's belly.

- You see - the hand slipped below, fingers through a thin fabric groped pubis - see, here, we let it down now, not once. There are nine of us here. Every time three - four can. What then will be with your little wife ?! Think of it! Think for the last time!

Konstantin Nikolaevich numb. Everything that happened seemed so unreal that until the end it was impossible to believe in it. A light bulb flies to the ceiling, shabby walls, the drunken muzzles of men - a dream, nonsense? Yesterday he was preparing to shoot in a new film by a famous director :.

- Well OK, whatever you want!

The hardened, peasant hand of Osipov slowly raised her dress. Appeared lace knickers. Real French pantaloons, bought on the occasion from acquaintances, fitting such an expensive ass, were the subject of desire of Konstantin Nikolaevich. They were for him a symbol of their tender relationship, their sexual harmony. And now he saw how the rough, proletarian palm of the investigator, this dork with the smell of onions and vodka fume, slowly moved to the cherished place of his wife. As she ticked on the pubis of the woman with a tick, how thick her fingers disappeared somewhere between her legs and began to stroke and massage in a businesslike way that only her husband had the right to touch.

Konstantin Nikolaevich wanted to close his eyes, maybe he would close his eyes, maybe lose consciousness - just not to see his man rudely caress his wife.

The woman tried to break free, squeezed her legs, begged to stop, but all this only inflamed the sadist more. She was already surrounded on all sides and pawed, snapped, crumpled her rough hands, which were used to rifles.

This went on for about ten minutes. Konstantin Nikolaevich noticed that his wife is no longer trying to break free. She stood, dropping her head, meekly giving her body for fun to the rapists.

- Look! - Osipov finally exhaled. The soldiers parted, and Konstantin Nikolayevich saw a small wet spot on his wife's pantaloons. What is it? Wet yourself? And then he understood - no, he didn’t wet himself. This is her juice, lubricant, she just flowed. These rude caress did the trick. She flowed. But this is terrible! Enjoy the touches of these cattle! Heaven, how can you ?! No, no, you are certainly not guilty - this is physiology, this is just physiology:

Wet pantalonchiki fell to his knees. Konstantin Nikolaevich caught the familiar smell: When did they remove them? He seems to already have failures in perception:

His wife, completely naked, lay on the couch. She did not try to get up, only covered her arms with her breasts. The soldiers frantically pulled off their tunic and breeches.

What will happen? What will happen? Oh my God! Do not: do not do it with her! She's so young! I took her as a girl, I cherished her and the shore. She can't stand gang rape!

A blow to his cheek brought him to his senses. Above him hung the face of the investigator.

- Now, dear Konstantin Nikolayevich, even your recognition will not stop what should happen.

He quickly went to the couch. He undressed and said something quietly to the guards. Obviously, he gave instructions on how to act in case of resistance. But there was no resistance. Osipov rudely crushed a young woman. Knees spread her legs to the sides and sharply jerked her back. Konstantin Nikolayevich heard his wife cry out, how he breathed, the rapist sniffed at her, twitching his ass all the faster. Pretty quickly he finished, got up and stretched, like ...