Sinful Submissions

by Ed Bemand

  Melinda may have done many things that she did not personally want to in the course of her career, but they were less frequent or onerous than many people are obliged to. Perhaps it could be perceived that she was a contributor to failed marriages or the decay of society and moral values, but that would be excessively judgemental. Facilitating sin and debauchery in a reasonable and moderate way and ensuring that people are not forced to suffer unduly in the process can hardly be a bad thing.

  Thirteen: Svetlana learns more about men

  When we last saw Svetlana, she was in the unenviable position of being naked in the back room of Mr. Bochakov’s office, with him approaching her, his cock erect and intent on entering her. She should not be blamed for being driven by fear to comply to his demands. She didn’t seem to have a lot of choices available to her. She didn’t resist him but that didn’t make what she did any more willing. When he was done with her he told her to get dressed in her own clothes again and return to the factory. He rearranged his clothes and went back into his office. She went into the bathroom and washed herself again. She gargled water and spat it into the sink trying to rid her mouth of the taste of his cum. She felt angry at herself for allowing it to happen. Surely she could have found something better to do? She wasn’t sure which was worse though, having to spend another few months gutting fish in the factory, or being faced with Bochakov’s cock. He was right though, she would probably have to do that and worse if a man did pick her. Maybe she would be lucky and a nice man would want her. She wasn’t sure if she should even dare to hope that.

  The bald man was waiting outside in his truck for her. He smiled at her unpleasantly as she got in.

  “Have fun with Mr. Bochakov?”

  She shrugged and avoided his gaze. He laughed and started the truck.

  It felt strange to be back in the factory and finishing her shift. For a brief moment she had felt like she had been close to escaping from the slime and fish blood but now she was worried what else Bochakov would expect her to do. For now she just had to keep working and get through her shift. When she was back in the bunkhouse afterwards she told Ludmilla what had happened. She didn’t seem very surprised.

  “He’s a filthy bastard that one. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ll get more of that from him. Just be careful he doesn’t get you doing that for everyone else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not just wives he arranges for people. There’s always money in fucking. The trouble is in getting any of it for yourself. Just don’t trust him.”

  “What other choice do I have? It’s that or gutting fish ‘til I’m an old hag and nobody would want me.”

  “That’s your choice, girl.”

  After a couple more days of working long hours and the constant feeling of slimy fish bits on her hands she was starting to wonder what she would be willing to do to get away from this. Lying in her bunk at night she found herself thinking wistfully of the hot shower and the pretty clothes. Bochakov had probably put her pictures on his website by now. She wondered if anyone had looked at them. What would they have thought of her? Would they have liked what they had seen? She found herself imagining some handsome rich foreigner looking at the pictures of her naked. She started to rub herself under the blankets. As her fingers stroked through the curls that nestled between her thighs she wondered if Bochakov had been right and that she should do something about them. Not that there was much that she could do here with only sputtering cold water from the tap to wash under. She continued to touch herself and had to stifle her moans as she reached a furtive orgasm.

  After another week she was once again approached by the bald man. He didn’t even have to explain what he was there for. Bochakov seemed pleased to see her when she opened the door to his office.

  “Come in, little Svetlana. Sit down. Coffee?” She nodded. He stuck his head round the door and asked Ivana to make it. “I’m sure you’re eager to hear how your listing has done.” He turned his computer screen around enough for her to be able to see it and showed her the page. The text was all in a language she couldn’t understand. There was a small selection of the photos arranged through the text. She did look pretty good in them. Mr. Bochakov seemed very pleased with his work. “We’ve had some interest in you already, but it is in the nature of these matters that they take time. In the mean-time, one of my personal friends has also expressed interest in you.” He paused for effect.

  “And?” she prompted warily.

  “He has asked if you would be interested in accompanying him as his guest to a party that he is holding for a few of his friends.”

  “A party?”

  “Yes, nothing grand, just a few friends having nice food and lovely champagne. He said that you would make a most excellent accompaniment to him for the occasion. He has said that he would be willing to reward you handsomely for doing him this honour and this would be most useful as a contribution towards you account here. What do you say?”

  “What will he want me to do?”

  Bochakov shrugged.

  “Just keep him company, smile politely, look pretty. Make him look good in front of his friends. This is okay?”

  “When is this party?” Svetlana couldn’t help but feel a bit suspicious about this. The thought of getting to spend some time somewhere other than the factory was appealing though, as was the idea of food that wasn’t boiled fish-heads.

  “It’s tonight. He’ll be sending someone to collect you in a couple of hours.”

  “Then I suppose I should get myself ready.”

  “Good girl. You know where everything is.”

  The hot shower felt even nicer than she remembered. She took her time, washing her body and hair thoroughly. She shaved her legs and underarms. It wasn’t something that often seemed important but the night deserved it. She also carefully shaved her pubic hair. She had never done this before so she wasn’t sure how much was appropriate to leave. In the end it was easier to just shave it all off. The feel of her smooth skin was very pleasing. The attention she was paying to herself made her feel rather aroused. When she was finished in the shower she dried herself off and applied make-up. When she left the bathroom she found that a long evening dress and suitable underwear and shoes had been left out for her. The stockings were quite an unfamiliar garment to her but she managed to get them on and attached to their belt. The dress was made of smooth, dark red material and it felt delicious against her skin. The mirror in the bathroom was too small for her to see herself properly but she felt like she must look good. She walked in to Bochakov’s office, balancing precariously on her high heels. He whistled when he saw her.

  “You look wonderful, dear girl. Your companion for the evening is a very lucky man. Only the fear of marking your beauty gives me the restraint to not take advantage of it.” Presumably that was supposed to be a compliment. She was just glad that she wasn’t going to have to start the evening with the taste of his cum lingering in her mouth. Bochakov glanced at his watch. “And you’re ready just in time too. Your companion for the evening should be here to collect you soon.”

  “Am I allowed to know his name?”

  “Of course. It’s Mr. Grigoriov, Nikolai Grigoriov.”

  He watched her face for any sign of a reaction. She tried to not show any. As far as she was aware he was part of one of the big families that were involved in organised crime in the area.

  It was his driver that came to fetch her from Bochakov’s office. He was a large well-dressed man who looked to be as much a heavy as a chauffeur. He spoke to Bochakov more than he did to Svetlana.

  The car was large, black and very expensive looking. The man held the door open for her and she climbed in, her precarious heels and the tight-fit of her dress making it more than a little awkward to do gracefully. The driver shut the door behind her, got in the front and started the car. He drove them to a large house on the outskirts of the city, parked up and got out before her to open the door. He led her to the front door.
It wasn’t locked.

  “Mr. Grigoriov is waiting for you.” The driver spoke to her directly for the first time. He indicated a door for her to go through. The house was very warm after the cold air outside. The carpets were thick and deep and felt like they wanted to envelop her feet. She pushed the door open and found herself in what looked like a study. There were paintings on the wall and a large desk at the far side of the room. Behind it was sat a handsome middle-aged man. He looked up at her entry.

  “You must be the lovely Svetlana.” She nodded and smiled politely. “And I am Nikolai Grigoriov.” He stood and offered her his hand. She reached out hers to shake it and he caught it and raised her fingers to his lips. “I am very glad to meet you. Your photos, lovely as they were, do not do you justice.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t help but be flattered.

  “Did Mr. Bochakov tell you much as to my desire for bringing you here tonight?”

  “He said you were having a party.”

  “That much is true. It’s a terribly dull little affair, just a few of my friends from out of town that I wanted to have a soiree for. You know the sort of thing, some nice drinks, some nice food and of course, a beautiful woman.” She nodded slightly. “Speaking of which, would you like something to drink, some champagne perhaps?”

  “Thank you.”

  He signalled to one of his people who had been lurking in the background. There was a bottle of champagne stood in a bucket on a side-table. She saw him pour some of it into two glasses which he brought over and offered to them. She accepted the glass and sipped at the champagne. She had never drunk much and she didn't think that she had ever tried it before. It seemed rather floral and she wasn't sure that she was a fan. It was a lot nicer than the vodka that they used to drink back home in the village when they were teenagers and up to no good. She had lost her virginity because of vodka. A few too many drinks and she had found herself being grappled by one of the boys. At the time it had all seemed like a good idea but she had felt embarrassed afterwards. It didn't help that as soon as he had finished and got off her she had rolled over and vomited. He hadn't seemed that bothered by it though.

  "My friends will be arriving shortly. What I ask from you is simple. Be beautiful and charming. Can you manage that?"

  "Yes."

  "Good girl. Now, wait here and enjoy your champagne. I will come to get you shortly."

  He stood and headed for the door, stopping to kiss her hand again as he walked past her. She was left alone in the room with the man who had served the champagne. She sipped at it slowly. She didn't want to find herself getting drunk. For all his pleasant behaviour Grigoriov made her feel nervous. She spent the next half hour staring at the paintings on the wall and sipping at the progressively warm champagne until the door of the study opened and another suit-clad goon entered.

  "Mr. Grigoriov would like you to join him now."

  She stood up. She was still holding her glass and looked around for somewhere to put it. She settled on the tray with the champagne bucket. The goon held the door open for her and shut it behind them.

  "This way, please."

  He showed her into a large lounge. Half a dozen men, Grigoriov among them, were sat around in armchairs drinking and smoking cigars. All but Grigoriov had pretty girls sat with them. In some cases the girls were sat on the men's laps.

  "Ah... Svetlana. So lovely of you to join us. I'd like you to meet some friends of mine." He introduced them all in turn. Most of the names didn't mean anything to her. She smiled politely at them. Grigoriov patted the arm of his chair and she sat down on it. The awkwardness of the seat forced her to sit very upright. It wasn't wide enough for it to be safe for her to relax. She didn't want to risk ending up on the floor. It seemed likely that that would go against what he wanted her to do this evening. No-one had seemed to think it necessary to introduce the other girls. She looked at them but didn't think she knew any of them. Maybe they weren't forced to work gutting fish when they weren't being taken to parties by rich men.

  Introductions complete, the men seemed happy to mostly ignore her and continue talking amongst themselves. A lot of what they were saying didn't make much sense to her. It didn't help that they dropped in phrases in different languages that she didn't understand at all. She gathered from watching the other girls that they were supposed to make sure that the men had drinks and anything else they might need but for the most part Grigoriov seemed happy for her to just sit there with his hand on her thigh. The other girls weren't saying very much so she didn't either.

  As the evening wore on the men got progressively drunker. The girls were encouraged to drink too and some of them were starting to look rather the worse for wear. One of the men, a fat man whose name she hadn't remembered had idly nudged down the straps on the dress of the girl who was sat with him and the front of her dress had slid progressively down until her small, firm breasts were almost completely exposed. She wasn't wearing a bra but it didn't look like she needed to. The other men didn't seem to mind and he started fondling her breasts as he continued his conversation. It made Svetlana feel rather uncomfortable. Someone had brought in a silver tray with a pile of white powder that she had assumed was cocaine on it and several of the men had snorted fat lines of it. A couple of the girls had joined in as well but Svetlana wasn't tempted to join them. One of the men made a suggestion that it would be more fun if the girls were playing with each other and the two that had taken the cocaine started to kiss and fondle each other, to roars of drunken approval from the men.

  It wasn't long before most of the girls were at least partially naked and several of them were doing things to the men. None of the men seemed to be particularly bothered by it. Luckily for her, Grigoriov didn't seem to expect her to join in with these activities. He was still just sat there, drinking and smoking, chatting and laughing with the men. He spent a lot of the time idly stroking her leg but so far he had not done anything more intimate. When one of the other men enquired as to whether he could borrow her for a minute, Grigoriov smiled thinly and told him not to be greedy. The man laughed and accused him of rationing them to one each. Grigoriov suggested that one was more than the other man's heart can handle and he laughed agreement and lost interest in her. She felt relieved.

  She wasn't sure how long the party was expected to go on for. There weren't any clocks in the room and she seemed to have been in here for an eternity. She hadn't moved from the arm of his chair for ages now and her legs and bottom were feeling numb. She hadn't drunk very much but she was still feeling a growing need to relieve herself. She leaned closer to Grigoriov and whispered as discretely as possible. He smiled politely and nodded towards one of the doors out of the room. She walked to the door as quietly as she could, not wanting to attract any attention to herself. Her feet started to tingle as sensation returned to them and it took a lot of effort to walk in a straight line. The door opened out onto a corridor. Fortunately the first door she opened turned out to be a rather lavishly appointed loo. She pushed the door shut behind her, slid the bolt across and sighed. She took her time, glad of the chance to have a few moments of privacy. When she was done she unbolted the door and started to open it. As she did so it was pushed from the other side, causing it to swing open rather too quickly and making her stumble back into the room. It was the man who had asked Grigoriov to let him borrow her. He shut the door behind him and locked it again.

  "Nikolai thinks I'm being greedy but he should know better than to put such delicious treats in front of me and then tell me I can't have them."

  "What do you want?"

  "I want a taste of you little one."

  "But Mr. Grigoriov..."

  "Doesn't have to know, does he? Anyway, I'm sure he wouldn't begrudge his old friend Yuri a little taste." He moved closer to her. There wasn't anywhere she could really go. He was blocking the only door. She could smell the smoke and alcohol on his breath. Once more she had found herself in an unfortunate situation at the hands of a m
an. Should she cry out? For all she knew it had been Grigoriov that had sent him after her. Yuri grabbed her by the back of the head and mashed his lips against her, kissing her messily. He pawed at her body through the smooth fabric of her dress.

  She sucked him off. It seemed like the easiest way of getting out of there without being subjected to too much abuse. When he had cum he laughed and unlocked the door. He walked out of the room, tucking his cock back in as he went. She was left alone. She shut the door again. She spent a few minutes trying to repair the damage to her makeup and regain some sense of composure.

  Fourteen: The happy relationship between Rachel and Lawrence

  The present age is one in which individual freedom is often hailed as being the greatest of all things that should be protected above all else and that the merest suggestion of the individual being subjugated to the will of another would be a terrible, shameful and even evil thing. Of course, the reality is not so simple. None are free except those that choose to be so by not letting those limits that are inevitably around them count. We are all restricted and limited in the expression of our will, by the self-imposed necessities of our circumstance, the requirement for and manner in which we earn the money to get those things that we either need or have simply convinced ourselves we need, by those whose influence we allow ourselves to feel, whether they are representatives of the state, our family or the people we work with and for. When we all allow ourselves to be voluntarily subjugated by others so much in our daily lives, why is it we still consider it to be so abhorrent that there are those who derive their greatest pleasure and satisfaction from allowing themselves to be given truly and freely to the control of another?