by Box Set
“It’s better than where I was before.” She moves her hand, so it covers the old injury, and I nod in reply before entering my room.
“Do you want help?” Rea asks.
“No. I need some time alone,” I respond.
“We’re here if you need us.” Rea turns away, and I close the door.
I take a deep breath and let the tears I’ve been holding back fall. I sink down to the floor and weep for the loss of my father. I cry for my future, but most of all, I lament the fact I’m not the only one that this is happening to. There are four other girls on the other side of my wooden door who’ve suffered, and still do, at the hands of men. We shouldn’t be used as toys to bargain with, but we were born into the wrong life, and this is the fate we must suffer.
When the tears finally stop falling, I wipe down my face and get to my feet. The bed calls to me. Maybe if I fall asleep, I won’t have to wake up again. I’m not that lucky. Oliver’s words flitter through my mind.
‘Fight him, fight me, and you’ll be sold to the highest bidder – believe me there are some evil men out there. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. I’ve watched them destroy pretty little girls like you. Accept, hold your head up high, and live.’
The Pakhan will call for me soon. If I crawl into the bed and hope for death, then he’ll have won. What they are asking of me is no different to the life I’ve lived before. Open my legs, let the man get off, and return to the comfort of my room. I snort a soft laugh. The surroundings here are even better than my old home. Plus, they don’t include my father pretending he loves me. I know I’m nothing more than a toy to the Pakhan – I’ve no illusions of love. Oliver was right. I must accept, hold my head up, and live. In a few small steps, I’m across the room and opening the wardrobe, which creaks on its antique hinges. Inside is nothing but skimpy dresses, bustiers, and sky-high shoes. It doesn’t surprise me. The Pakhan isn’t the sort of man to understand sexual allure without the flashing of plenty of flesh. I run my fingers over the silky, sequined fabric until I reach a peacock blue dress. I pull it out. It’s encrusted with matching colored sequins over a bodice. The skirt tapers down to the ground, but with a long slit up to the navel. I shut the wardrobe doors and hang the dress up on the outside. Opening the drawers of the chest I find it’s full of matching thongs and bras. I don’t need a bra with the dress. The bodice will keep my small cup breasts in place, but I’m not going in without underwear. I grab two pairs of blue panties and hold them up against the dress. One of them matches better than the other. I disregard the one that doesn’t quite fit. Slipping the cloak from my shoulders, I quickly step into the panties and pull them up my legs I’d waxed this morning before coming here. They fit perfectly. I pull the dress over my head and allow it to tumble down over my curves. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room, allowing me to see that the dress suites me perfectly. If the circumstances were different, this would be the ideal dress for an illicit romantic meal with a lover. One where we’re hidden away in the corner of a room, playing with each other under the table while a stern-faced waiter serves us exquisite foods like lobster and caviar. I run my hands over the dress. Those thoughts will always remain a dream for me, though. Never a reality.
Just as I finish doing my hair and touching up the minimal make-up I wear, there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I shout, and Natasha pushes the door open.
“Your presence is requested.”
“The Pakhan?” I ask.
She nods.
“Thank you.”
I take a final look in the mirror and inwardly whisper to myself, ‘head held high, head held high’, before getting to my feet and slipping them into a pair of silk blue sandals I also found in the wardrobe earlier. The heels click on the marbled floor when I walk toward Natasha and the door.
“Do they go easy on you your first time?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Thank you for being honest.”
I hope it’s Oliver who’s come to get me, but my wish is dashed when I see one of the other guards. He’s nose is crooked like it’s been broken previously. His eyes are close together, and it gives him a stern appearance.
“I’m ready,” I tell him
“About time. The Pakhan doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
He grabs my arms and drags me, teetering in the heels, along behind him. I wished now I’d chosen to be bare foot. I spend most of my time in either flats or without shoes, so it’s difficult to keep upright and not slip.
“Get a move on,” the man orders me, and I shoot murderous thoughts into the back of his head. If only they could come true, then he’d be a bloody mess on the floor.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I tell him. He stops, spins around, and punches me in the stomach before dragging me doubled-over in agony down the corridor again.
“Don’t answer me back, whore.”
He kicks open a door and pulls me into a dimly lit room. The smell of cigar smoke instantly assaults me, and I cough. The man pushes me down onto the floor.
“Keep your mouth shut and head down,” he orders and clears his throat. “Pakhan, sir. The girl is here.”
I try to look up, but the man’s hand on my head prevents me from moving.
“Was she causing trouble?” The deep timbre of the man who owns me sends shivers down my spine.
“You know these whores, sir. Never ready when you tell them to be.”
The Pakhan laughs.
“I’m glad to hear that she wants to look good for me and our guests. You can go, Andrei. Thank you.”
“Sir.” The man removes his hand from my head, and I twist it slightly to see him backing out of the room. Good riddance, I curse silently.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my new possession. I acquired her, today. Senor Ortega’s unfortunate demise left her with no protector. It was only right that I embrace my duty to her.”
Jerk!
“You’re such a good man, Ivanov. Many would have left her to fend for herself on the streets of Moscow.” Another man chuckles before the others join in.
“We all know she’d already be dead if I did that. Pakhan Kuznetsova doesn’t have a high tolerance for the Mexicans.”
“Definitely.” Glasses chink together in a toast.
“On your feet, girl,” the Pakhan orders. I slowly rise and lift my head up. There are three men in the room.
“Very pretty,” one of them offers.
“I’m afraid she’s not, physically, on the menu tonight. Natasha and Rea will be here later for that. I haven’t had the chance to personally sample her, yet, but I’m sure she could give us all a show.”
“Of course.” Both men nod agreement, and I can’t help but let out a little sigh of relief that I’m not to be taken by all three tonight.
“Remove your dress,” the Pakhan orders. I don’t have a death wish, so even though every part of me is screaming to ignore him, I do it. The beautiful material pools by my feet on the floor, and I shut my eyes to block out the sight of the men, staring lustfully at me. Big mistake. A punch is thrown into my face, and I’m sent flying onto the floor. Sharp shooting pain rings around my head, and I’m sure I’m seeing stars.
“I did not tell you to close your eyes. You’ll keep them open and watch us appreciate your feminine form.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, swaying slightly to get back to my feet. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and I realize I must have bitten my lip, or it was injured by the punch.
“A perfect color for her.” One of the men laughs and runs his finger across my lip, smearing the blood.
“Thank you, sir.” I offer him, and the Pakhan smiles at me.
“Good girl.” I swallow down the bile in my throat at his comment. He doesn’t sense my disgust, though, for his attention is focused on my breasts and the way they feel under his kneading hand. I stand rigid against his attention. “Show me how you like to have your breasts touch
ed?”
I don’t move and receive another punch to the face for my troubles. More blood drips down my face. This time from what I suspect is a cut on my cheek. Reluctantly, I move my hand to my breast and trace around the nipple before pinching the tip.
“That’s better.” The Pakhan cups himself over his trousers. I look over his shoulders at the other two men, and they already have their dicks in their hands and are jerking the erected lengths.
“Send her lower,” one of them suggests, and the Pakhan raises an eyebrow at me. I see him clench his fist ready to hit me again. I’m not falling into that trap. My hand instantly slides down over my stomach and to my shaved pussy. I dip into the folds and stroke at my core.
“Yes,” one of the men exclaims and jerks himself harder.
The Pakhan keeps his eyes locked with mine while he lowers his own trousers and brings his dick into his hand. I want to look down at it but won’t give him the satisfaction of my curiosity. If I did, he’d probably think it was because I wanted it, but in reality, it’d be to make sure it’s not disease ridden or, as I suspect, nonexistent.
“You will come for us, Amaya. I want to see how you look when you’re bound by the pleasure you will feel from me.”
“I…” I start to speak to tell him that I don’t come on demand, but the cuts and bruises on my face are a reminder of what answering back receives. “I’ll try, sir.”
“Succeed,” he offers in a voice that’s soft but laced with punishment if I fail.
I stroke myself quicker, but my body is fighting back against the situation it finds itself in. I’m dry to the touch, and the friction causes more pain than pleasure. I need to think. I could fake it. I let out a soft moan.
“I’ll know if you fake,” the Pakhan interrupts my thought process. Shit, Shit, Shit!
“May I close my eyes?” I ask, a sudden image flashing across my mind of Oliver inspecting me. “I want to listen to you and by depriving myself of sight, it allows my other senses to take over.
“This once. Open them when you come, though.”
“Yes, sir,”
I shut my eyes tightly and allow more thoughts of Oliver to invade my mind. How can a man I barely know, and only briefly spoken to, fill me with emotions so crazy that they’ll allow me to come in a room of men who want to abuse and degrade me? They do, though, and I feel the wet heat starting to pool between my thighs, and I stroke myself. I dip a finger inside to gather more of my juices and rub harder and faster at my clit while imagining it’s Oliver touching me. Before long, I’m coming. I force my eyes open when my body starts to shudder with pleasure. The Pakhan and both men are directly in front of me. One of them pushes me to the floor, and instantly, all three come over my naked flesh. Their essence spurts onto my face, down my neck, and over my breasts. They mix together and brand me a toy for their pleasure. My orgasm fades, and I’m left with nothing but a hollow feeling inside.
5
OLIVER
I breathe in slowly while I push up on the bar connected to two, two-hundred-pound weights and exhale when I lower it into the hands of my spotters. I repeat several more times with the muscles of my powerful arms rippling and straining from the exertion they are under.
“Enough,” I tell the two soldiers, and they place the bar back in its holder and proceed to strip down the weights while I slide from the bench, grab a towel, and wipe the sweat from my body and the seat. “Thank you,” I tell them before heading over to the water fountain to rehydrate after a tough work out. I don’t know why, but I felt the need to test myself tonight. I’d run longer on the treadmill than I’d done in a long time. Mile after mile, my feet had pounded the rotating floor until I looked down and found I had completed 9.9 miles in just under an hour. A new record for me. I was more of a sprinter so was pretty impressed with that pace. Next up, I lifted weights with my legs and then my arms until the lactic acid in them burned so badly I nearly collapsed on the weight bench. I start to stretch out when a soldier comes running into the room.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we need you,” he addresses me.
“What is it?” I stand up and throw the sweaty towel toward a bin while grabbing another.
“The new girl. The Pakhan has returned her to her room, but she needs to be cleaned up and stitched. She’s refusing to let anyone in. I thought it would be best to get you rather than him, he’s busy with his associates and Natasha and Rea.
I run a hand across my head in frustration. I knew the moment I saw her she was going to be trouble. Not least because my dick instantly came alive at her presence, and it never does that. But she had a spirit that, despite her initial shock at her father’s death, was still very much evident in her words to me about not being dead inside. Who was she to tell me something like that? I know myself better than she does. My heart is black and thickened from the scars of the crimes I’ve committed. I am never going to feel again. She is such an idiot and needs to be put in her place.
“You did the right thing,” I tell the solider, knowing that if he disturbed the Pakhan for something like this, both the girl and solider would’ve been on the end of a savage beating. “I’ll deal with it at once.”
I follow him as he runs through the corridors. My legs are exhausted from the workout and protest at yet more exercise, but I can’t look weak in front of a solider. It would plant the seeds of doubt and lead to my downfall. I have to be the strongest, the fastest, and the best. There is no choice!
As we get closer to the girl’s room I can hear Amaya swearing at someone – I suspect it is a doctor.
“Touch me with that needle, and I’ll rip it from your hands and dig it into your eye.” I can’t help but smirk because I get the sense from my brief encounter with her that she’d give it a damn good go if she got half the chance.
I step into the room and everything goes quiet.
“Everyone out. Zola, Irina go to your room,” I order. People quickly scramble away at my authority. Next to the Pakhan, I’m the highest authority in this place, and if they disobey me, they know they are in serious trouble. When they all leave, I’m left with the sight of Amaya standing in the center of the room. She’s naked except for a thong, but that covers very little. Her face is covered in blood, and it’s dripping down her neck and trailing a path over her chest. I wince when I see the dried cum that marks her flesh. My chest suddenly feels tight as though there’s a pain where my heart is. It’s an alien feeling, and not something I’m used to. It makes it hard to breath, but I shake it off, assuming it’s something I’ve pulled during my training. Stomping forward, I stare down Amaya with a look that tells her not to test me.
“Sit,” I command her, and she instantly drops into a wooden chair at the table next to her. I put my hand on the top of her head and tilt it up to get a better look at her wound. “Why won’t you let the doctor stitch it?”
“No needles,” she stutters. “Please.”
“Why?” I let go of her head and reach for a blanket on the sofa before throwing it at her.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You either tell me why no needles, or I will hold you down while the doctor puts the stitches in.” I pull a chair up next to her, reach over to the table, pick up a wipe and dip it into a bowl of antiseptic fluid.
“Please, Oliver.”
I raise an eyebrow at her to tell her I won’t tolerate her calling me by my name.
“Please don’t force me, sir,” she repeats.
“I’m sorry, Amaya, but you have to learn the hard way.” I put the wipe to her face where the cut is, and she winces at the sting of the fluid.
“I hate you. I hate you all.”
“Deflection tactics won’t work either.” I get a fresh wipe and repeat the process while she sits there with her lips pursed tightly together. “You’ve got until I’ve finished cleaning this to make your mind up. I mean what I say. You will be held down while he does it.”
“Fine.” She huffs and pulls th
e blanket around her shoulders to cover her body. I allow myself to relax a little because her curves were distracting me. “It comes from my mother. My father, when he was displeased with her, used to have her pumped full of drugs to keep her manageable.”
“There will be no drugs attached to this needle. You can see that for yourself. It’s purely to fix the cut on your cheek and stop it from bleeding.”
“I understand that. I’m not stupid. It’s an irrational fear. But the needle could be dipped into the drugs for all I know. That’s where my fear comes from. I just don’t want needles of any sort anywhere near my skin.”
“Ok.” I shrug.
“Ok?” she questions.
I don’t answer her, preferring to look through the medical kit that the doctor has on the table. I find some steri-strips and pull them out.
“It might leave a bit more of a scar, but I can use these instead.”
Amaya’s eyes open wide at my suggestion.
“But I thought?”
“Thought what?” I ask and peel a strip from the pack and lean in to pull the skin of her cheek together before attaching it to the flesh.
“I thought you would force me to have them.”
I laugh at her suggestion.
“I’m not a monster, Amaya. You don’t like needles – I’m not going to force you to be stitched up by one when steri-strips are just as good.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispers while I place another strip to her cheek. The wound isn’t deep, but I’m guessing that the Pakhan hit her and cut the tender flesh with the ring he wears, which signifies his authority.
“If I were a monster like those around me, I’d get pleasure out of seeing you suffer and want to inflict more of that on you. I’m not though, so I might as well use the steri-strips.”
“You’re not like the others, because you have a heart. You could help me escape this place.”
I can’t help but laugh at that one.
“I think you mistake my meaning. I don’t get any pleasure out of seeing you suffer because, despite what you believe, I’m dead inside. Seeing people hurt does nothing for me, anymore.” I finish with the strips and tilt her head sideways to examine my handiwork. She may end up with a scar where the flesh has come together, but there’s little that I can do about that. She’ll be covered in a lot more scars before the Pakhan has finished with her. She only needs to look at the other girls to establish that.