Iron Maiden, or A History in Heavy Metal Style

adminFebruary 18, 202414 min read519 views

"Iron maiden (железная дева) — a device, allegedly a medieval instrument of the Holy Inquisition, consisting of an iron cabinet shaped like a female figure, its inner surface studded with long sharp nails and equipped with a device for suffocation. The very existence of this device is doubted by most historians."

From Wikipedia materials.

"No one is immune from misfortune. And it comes unexpectedly. Sometimes a series of random events leads to disaster, and sometimes you find yourself in deep trouble due to someone's malicious intent. During the French Revolution, Louis XVI

ascended the scaffold only due to a confluence of circumstances, when the voting of the deputies of the Jacobin Convention was evenly split, and his fate was decided by just a few votes. And Joan of Arc ended up at the stake for quite logical reasons, having become an undesirable and inconvenient figure for the corrupt servants of the church and throne. The naive and illiterate girl was read a renunciation of heresy and slipped a document of entirely different content, on which she signed her own death warrant, personally putting a bold cross under a text she didn't understand. Essentially, she was set up to satisfy the personal ambitions of Inquisition figures. Characteristically, the Maid of Orleans suspected from the very beginning that she would come to a bad end. Because she constantly had to deal with vain and greedy power-seekers. Now it's a different century and completely different relations in society. Nevertheless, nothing has changed, and to this day someone pays for the sins of others."

From the diary of Anne-Marie Fischer.

A quiet Saturday morning arrived, and upon waking, I continued to lie in bed. The stressful workweek was behind me, and now I could relax. Go out for some fresh air, take a walk in nature, go shopping. Buy myself some little trinket-bauble. The sun was rising, and the day promised to be clear, warm, and serene. How I love weekends. No need to jump up at dawn and, unsticking sleepy eyes along the way, run like a madwoman to wash up, get ready, hurry. Hastily put on makeup and rush, rush to that damned, cursed job. So as not to be late, God forbid, not get a scolding from the boss, and not end up on the blacklist for dismissal. All excuses about the tram having a flat tire, or enemies puncturing the gas tank on the way, were not accepted. I can't stand this running around, when in the end you're short by just five minutes. I love weekends because you don't have to hurry and rush anywhere, with your tongue hanging out. You can lounge, be lazy, and do whatever you please. Those who get up early and rush to work will understand me. 'He who is in no hurry gets everywhere' — said Professor Preobrazhensky to Doctor Bormental in Bulgakov's cult novel. And that professor was deeply, utterly wrong. He, of all people, with his private practice, had nowhere to hurry. As they say — he was his own boss. Having leisurely made coffee, I took out my makeup bag and prepared to put on my makeup. The cell phone rang. Oh, damn. I meant to turn it off yesterday, to hell with it, until Monday. I won't answer. But it kept ringing, and it was starting to get on my nerves.

— Olga, you're home. Thank God — it was my friend — the neighbor from the stairwell — please, help me out just once, I really need it.

— What happened?

— Listen, cover for me at my sales point for a couple of hours, I urgently need to go get some goods, and my partner, as luck would have it, went on sick leave and left for some sanatorium.

— How can I help you? How? I'm not a salesperson. I don't know how. I'll sell all sorts of nonsense for you.

— Listen, you don't have to do anything. Just stand behind the counter. If customers come, tell them the cash register isn't working, and your partner ran to get the keys for it and will be back soon.

— I can't, I was actually planning to go out.

— Please, it's such a situation. My partner isn't here, but you'll easily pass for me. We look alike, after all. If I close the shop for even half an hour on such a busy day, Pavel Sergeyevich will simply kill me. He'll leave me without pay. It's just two hours of work. And I'll treat you afterwards. You know I won't forget.

Well, she was right. We did look alike. Of course, there wasn't an absolute resemblance. If you looked closely, there were differences at least in eye color, and my face was more round, and I was three years younger. Nevertheless, neighbors in the building often confused us. I thought about it. What, actually, am I losing? Well, I'll stand behind the counter for a couple of hours. It won't kill me, after all. I'll help out, so be it. And I'll still have time to go for a walk. The whole day is ahead. And tomorrow is a day off too. Okay.

— Okay — I said — so be it, you've talked me into it. And who is this Pavel Sergeyevich?

— Oh, my boss. I have a share in his shop. Well, you're a champ. Thanks, friend, you're helping me out. I'm waiting for you downstairs in the car. Hurry up, or I have to open exactly at ten.

Hurry up again. Well, it's my own fault. I should have sent this damn Marina with her shop to hell. But no, I let myself be persuaded. I went downstairs, and near the entrance, a sparkling brand-new Hyundai Sonata in a new body style, red-silver, was waiting for me. My friend was proudly sitting at the wheel. Where do people get the money for such luxurious cars? They build themselves three-level houses in record time. They gallivant around foreign resorts. And they all pretend to be poor. And you, you work from advance to paycheck, and still can't buy yourself decent shoes.

— Not a bad car. Can't buy that on a salary. Living beyond your means — I joked.

Marina just waved her hand.

We entered a small, solidly built shop located not far from a busy intersection, and Marina led me behind the counter. All around, trousers, dresses, and robes hung on hangers. Against the walls, from bottom to top, shoes were piled in boxes. It smelled pleasantly of tanned leather and textiles. The shop was packed almost to the ceiling with assorted goods, including expensive cosmetics, and I even thought, what goods does she still need to get? It's already full of everything here, like a warehouse.

— Listen, Marina, I'm kind of scared. There's so much stuff here. I won't manage.

— Okay. Put on a confident look and don't be afraid of anything. It won't be for long. Put on this branded uniform and wear my badge.

— But your photo is on it.

— Yeah, and in the photo it's the spitting image of you. You, the main thing, stand behind the counter or sit here on this chair, so you're visible. Well, so the shop is working. And if anyone asks for anything, don't sell. Tell them about the cash register. Otherwise — let them look, choose, check prices. Over there in the corner is a fitting room. Most customers know what they need. There are price tags everywhere here. And I'll be there and back in a flash. I'll be quick. You, the main thing, don't leave your workplace until I return, or I could have big problems later.

— Okay, just don't linger anywhere.

— Of course, there and back.

— Well, hello, Marina. What, decided to run away? You won't get away from me.

— Who are you? I don't know you.

— Of course you don't. But you'll find out soon. And do you remember Tatyana Viktorovna?

— I don't know any Tatyana Viktorovna. What do you want from me?

They rudely stepped behind the counter. The woman brazenly took me by the chin and brought her impassive face close to mine.

— Don't play the fool. Where's the documentation? Where are the stones? Where's the gold? Where's your little Pasha? Do you know what happens to us for being cheated?

— I d-d-don't know, I'm not Marina, they just asked me to stand here for her.

— Well, aren't you something. Couldn't think of anything dumber? Your cheap circus act won't work on me, I'll squeeze your share out of you — said the woman and suddenly, with a backhand, slapped me across the cheek with the back of her hand.

From the surprise, I lost my balance and fell into the arms of the sturdy guy standing behind me. He caught me under the arms and immediately covered my mouth with his palm.

— Let's pack her up. I was warned she'd be difficult — said the lady in a steely voice and began rummaging in the desk drawers, dumping all the contents onto the floor — well, I take my hat off, tracking you down wasn't easy. You know how to cover your tracks, you bitch. But I knew your greed would be your downfall someday, and that you'd surface somewhere one way or another.

A small bag immediately appeared in the sturdy guy's hand, from which he extracted a handkerchief abundantly soaked in some stinking liquid. The next moment, he firmly pressed it onto my face, covering my nose and mouth. I tried to break free, to somehow scream. But the hold was secure. I held my breath as long as I could, trying to kick him with the heel of my shoe, but I was catastrophically short of air. The woman turned her head towards me and calmly looked into my eyes. Bringing her hand to my face, she gently stroked my chin.

— You're a darling — she said to me.

Finally, I gasped convulsively. The fumes of the stinking stuff immediately rushed into my lungs, and everything swam before my eyes. My body stopped obeying, and losing consciousness, I suddenly thought: Oh, Marina, Marina. Why did you set me up.

***

I came to and opened my eyes. I was sitting in an uncomfortable position on a low chair in the middle of a small room with shabby walls. The windows were tightly curtained, and the room was lit by a dim light bulb under a low ceiling. Besides me, there was no one else in the room. I was tightly tied to the chair with rope, and my hands were pulled behind the high back and secured with handcuffs. My mouth was taped shut from ear to ear with wide tape, and I could only breathe through my nose. A little further away, near the wall, stood a half-stripped sofa and another chair next to it. I didn't know how long I had been here. Where was I anyway? How long had I been unconscious? What were they planning to do with me? These questions arose in my head by themselves. The tight ropes cut into my body, and it hurt to move. My legs were also securely tied to the chair legs. My head ached, and there was a salty-bitter taste in my mouth. I was in deep trouble. Now I understood that Marina was involved in some kind of scam. Most likely, she and her boss decided not to share with any of their accomplices and disappeared in an unknown direction. And they set me up, the sucker, so that people would forget about them for a while, and they would have time to properly cover their tracks. And then — look for a needle in a haystack. Now they would take me seriously, and the sweet couple would meanwhile vanish. Really clever. But how to explain to these people that I'm not who they think I am. erotic stories And what, actually, do I know about Marina? Essentially — nothing. We had known each other for two months, when she arrived from who knows where and rented an apartment in my building. Her boss bought the premises in a busy location, and they opened a shop. And I met her seemingly by chance. It turns out she was involved in some secret dealings and was already then preparing her escape route. And at the very last moment, I served as her cover. And I guessed what awaited me now.

Somewhere behind me, there was the sound of a door opening and footsteps were heard. The same trio entered the room. The guys, paying no attention to me, sat down on the sofa; one of them took a deck of cards from his jacket and began shuffling. The woman leisurely took a chair and placed it opposite me. Sitting down comfortably, she crossed her legs and silently examined me. I, in turn, looked at her. A shapely figure, slightly above average height, with a beautiful, strong-willed face and thick chestnut hair combed back and tied in a tight ponytail with an elastic band. Slender, expressive legs.

— Marina, Marina. You twist and turn like a fox, but you won't outsmart me. I suspect you cashed out part of it and transferred it to your accounts. But you won't be able to liquidate everything else that quickly, not even you. Now you'll give me everything. I'm not going to burn you with an iron, torture you with a soldering iron, or drive needles under your nails. You'll tell me everything anyway. You'll remember even things you don't know yourself.

She stood up and carefully removed the tape from my face.

— Listen. I'm not Marina, I was set up. I'm a complete stranger to you, I ended up behind the counter by accident.

She listened and smiled, slowly nodding her head. And suddenly, professionally, without a wind-up, she slapped me again. So hard that sparks flew from my eyes. I flinched and cried out. I mumbled something about being asked to temporarily substitute for the salesperson.

— Don't interrupt when I'm talking to you. Have you heard of me? Tatyana Viktorovna must have told you who I am. Well, my name is Irina, nicknamed Iron Maiden, and if you didn't get D's in history, you know what that is. And now you're going to tell me everything. How long your stay with me in this place lasts depends on you. I need information, and we have little time. So your schedule of trials will be tight. But you'll tell me everything down to the smallest details. You'll see, by evening you'll voluntarily hand everything over to me. You won't believe it, but you'll even give me the change from your wallet. So, first question. Where is the documentation?

— I'm not the person you think I am.

— As you wish — she came close and placed a soft palm on my face.

She was silent and gently stroked me. Then she slipped her hand under my T-shirt and soft fingers found my breast. I jerked, and immediately received another slap. A burning pain spread across my face, and groaning, I went limp. The woman continued to persistently and tenderly stroke my mound, and her other hand returned to my face and, as if nothing had happened, continued to gently caress my cheek and chin.

— Well, what do you want me to call you? — she asked calmly — if you don't admit to being Marina.

— Please, don't.

— Well, why not. You already like it. Do you know how Mata Hari extracted secret information? She did it during lovemaking. And you will love me, and tell me everything. Right?