Absolute Power. Part 1
My name is Olga, I'm an attractive 34-year-old woman, and until recently, everything was simply wonderful. A beloved job at an advertising agency, a cozy apartment in a good area of Moscow, a loving and beloved husband with a good income. But one terrible day, riot police arrived at my husband's office: he was detained, documents and computers were confiscated and studied. Who the hell knows what they were initially looking for (most likely something economic), but then they found some correspondence, donations to the wrong people, and it started to smell like a political article, which promised him up to 10 years in prison.
It was a wild shock. For several months, I knocked on the doors of all the investigators, prosecutors, and courts; I spent all my savings on lawyers, but the picture was shaping up that my beloved Sasha would be sent behind bars and nothing could be done about it. The trial was scheduled for January 15th, and when at the end of December the investigator said there was some glimmer of hope in the case and suggested meeting, I immediately agreed, seeing it as a chance to end this nightmare.
But the conversation with the investigator plunged me into an even greater stupor...
— Olga Alekseevna, I think there's a chance that your husband will be cleared before the law much sooner than expected!
— Did you find some facts that will prove his innocence?!
— Regarding guilt, decisions are made in higher offices, so the issue might be resolved not in that plane. I didn't find a fact, but a factor that could make the attitude toward his case in those offices more favorable. Or rather, they themselves saw it from that office—after all, you've been hanging around the prosecutor's office for so long, going to see all the bosses...
Do you know what absolute power is? These people manipulate destinies, so they have their own quirks, incomprehensible to us ordinary people. Take the New Year's corporate party, for example. They have loads of money, they can hire as many girls as they want and of any kind. But no, that doesn't grab them! They want to play gods or cat and mouse, they want something special. So, an offer came to you from there—to participate in this celebration. If you refuse, they might get offended and throw the book at him. But if you please the respected people, the sentence could be reduced to just a couple of years.
— Please?! What am I, some kind of whore to you?
— Well, first of all, not to me—I'm just conveying the offer. Secondly, you're not a whore, but a loving, sensible wife. The serious people will be relaxing for no more than a day, and your family will gain 6-8 years from this.
It's up to you, but the offer is limited: the celebration is in 4 days, so I need an answer by tomorrow evening. Here's a phone number (he handed me a piece of paper from a notepad), write your decision there. But if the decision is wrong or you decide to ignore the offer, then no hard feelings—I warned you.
Inside, everything in me was screaming with indignation, disgust, and fear, but what else could I do? The next evening, with tears in my eyes, I wrote a message to that number:
"This is Olga, wife of Alexander ***. I am ready to come to the celebration."
Literally a few minutes later, a long message came in response:
"Correct answer. There are several rules that must be followed unquestioningly.
1. The place from which you will be picked up will be sent later; phone and all gadgets will be taken at the very beginning.
2. You must be sober and in a clear state of mind (no alcohol, drugs, sedatives).
3. You must have hair only on your head: legs, arms, bikini area, etc. must be smooth.
4. Makeup is allowed, but minimal and not bright.
5. Clothing according to these article numbers (a list of article numbers from a marketplace).
Is everything clear?"
Uhhh... The gadgets part was unpleasant, but it wasn't the worst in my situation. I didn't have any particular craving for drugs or alcohol. Laser hair removal had already made my body smooth for several years (at this point, I shuddered with disgust). I don't particularly like makeup, so that wasn't scary.
All that was left was to see what the clothing was about. That also turned out to be nothing super unusual, just 3 items of clothing: a blue Snow Maiden hat, a blue dress (simple but quite revealing, mid-thigh length), and red fishnet stockings with a large mesh (I shuddered again).
Everything was clear and not very comforting for me. With such instructions, it was unlikely that singing karaoke and dancing around the Christmas tree were in store. I wasn't afraid of sex, but the situation itself infuriated me: dress up, prepare, come, we'll have our fun, and then it'll count... "Yeah, who the fuck do you think you are?"
The outfit in the set turned out very whorish—I even ordered it to a different pickup point so as not to stand out in my neighborhood. Walking outside in such an outfit was scary, but fortunately, everyone had corporate parties that Friday, so I could pretend to be an animator.
But at minus 14 degrees with bare legs, it wasn't so much shameful as it was cold. And the car was late, so the Snow Maiden was already all blue by the time it arrived...
While I was rolling these thoughts around, the car was rolling me somewhere away from the evening city.
To be continued.