by Jaden Wilkes
“They eat what I send back,” he told her, “I like having the staff to accommodate my every wish. They are all paid very well, so there are no complaints.”
He stood up; pulled the phone he’d found on her out of his pocket and placed it on top of the tray. “They are paid so well in fact, that whoever owns this phone will be grateful to keep his job and get this back, remember?”
She was unreadable at this juncture, he held out his hand for her to take it. She did, but still seemed hesitant. She looked back at the door to the kitchen as they left the dining room and he sensed her tense up. He knew she was going to make a break for it even before she probably did.
She jerked away and made a mad dash for her freedom. She ran past the food cart and pushed it towards him as he pursued her. He stepped around it and continued after her. She was quick, this surprised him, her movements were almost feral. He caught her hair just as she reached the door. She would have found it locked, and he enjoyed the chase but was enraged by her duplicity.
“Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, little dove,” he growled at her as he dragged her back across the dining room, she made shuffling little steps to keep up. He stopped only to pick up the phone that had dropped and placed it on top of the tray once again. “I will not put up with these attempts to escape, there is no escaping this. The sooner you realize that, the happier you will be.”
He wrapped his fist in her hair tighter and lifted her into his arms. He walked down the winding hallway back to the room at the centre of the apartment and deposited her unceremoniously on the floor. She pushed herself up to sitting, and he had to give her credit as she looked up at him with her huge, beautiful eyes. She hadn’t shed a single tear.
Chapter Sixteen – Columbia
It had been a failed attempt at escape, pathetic at best. She hadn’t planned it; she had actually been enjoying their breakfast when her guilt kicked in. She shouldn’t be sitting here with a sociopathic rapist while Eden needed her. She’d made the rushed attempt on the door because she didn’t know how else to find her way back. The apartment was larger than she had first imagined, and even now back in the windowless room where he kept her captive, she had no idea which way was up. Even if she managed to get through the door, she wouldn’t know which way to run.
He was too fast for her though; it was almost as if he’d expected her to make a break for it, even when the plan had just hatched in her head seconds before her dash. He’d dragged her by the hair back to the room and was now standing over her. She didn’t cry, she remembered how much he hated it so she shut herself down when he got a hold of her. She knew at this point he wasn’t going to kill her, or if he did it would be for something bigger than a small attempt at escape.
She would have to settle in and accept his demands today, in order to keep him from escalating his rage. She recognized that switch in him; she possessed one herself. When she cut her skin, she turned something off inside of her, the thing that fought for self-preservation and survival. When she played at slashing her skin and opening the veins on her wrists, she went dead inside. She could see that happening to him, from the charming, bright-eyed man at breakfast to the flat-eyed monster he was now.
She needed to get him to flip the switch and realize where he was, who she was, so she knew not to push him.
She held her arms up, exposed her soft underbelly so to speak, and said, “I’m sorry, I only want to see my sister.”
He pulled her to standing and stared down at her. She could see the struggle inside of him; his eyes betrayed the turmoil he was fighting with. On one side she knew he wanted to smash her down with the back of his hand and fuck her right there, choke her to death and toss her body in the trash. On the other side there was some part of him that she had touched earlier, with her stories and kindness. She had seen this part of him during their conversation. Her heart was pounding and she felt like she could barely breathe because the air was so thick with his indecision.
The good side won, she saw his face relax and his eyes go back to normal. They lost the flatness, and the light returned. She could have clapped in relief when she saw him return. His voice was still emotionless when he said, “I understand, I had a sister once,” and led her to the wooden cross in the centre of the room. He pulled her arms up and clicked a metal clip shut on her wrist cuffs. “She was older than me, by five years. When I killed our father she was seventeen and already too far gone to be saved. He had done worse to her than he ever did to me, and she turned to heroin to escape her life. I was lucky. In Russia there are more options for men looking to change their lives, women are relegated to a limited number of professions. I was able to kill the bastard and run for the streets. I survived, she did not.”
Columbia could feel his pain as he spoke, “I’m so sorry,” she said and looked at his face. She wondered what things his father had done to be killed, but had an idea the two of them had more in common than she had initially imagined. He wasn’t looking back at her, but above her at the cuffs on her wrists or some other distant spot. His undamaged side was towards her and she studied his face, marveled at his classic good looks. He was truly a beautiful man, full of grace and self-possession that most men lacked. He had a timeless quality about him, in another lifetime he would have been an actor or model, recognized internationally and lauded for his appearance. In another life, he wouldn’t have been saddled with such tragedy. “What was her name?” she asked when he didn’t speak.
He looked at her, as though he’d forgotten where he was. “Galina,” he said, “her name was Galina and she liked milk on her strawberries and she smelled of the woods after the rain. I loved her when I was a child.”
“I’m sure you still do,” she said and left it at that. She lacked words to convey the emotion she felt, to let him know how much his pain meant to her. He looked at her for a long moment, and shook his head with the slightest movement.
“Yes, of course I do,” he said brusquely. “Now let’s get on with your training today.”
She knew a moment had passed, but she felt honoured to have been given the memory of a girl who smelled of rain and loved milk on her strawberries.
*****
“Are you going to try and escape again?” he demanded.
She couldn’t help herself, she didn’t know why she battled him or didn’t just lie about it, but some dark, strange part of her thrust out her lower jaw and said, “Yes, the first chance I get.”
He laid into her ass with the crop and she cried out. He had her facing the wooden cross, her hands stretched up above her and her naked body glistening with the sweat of her exertion. She had been answering the same way for almost an hour now, and he was getting more and more frustrated. They’d started off with small punishments, pinches and barehanded slaps for her impertinence.
But now, after answering him for the fifth time, he was laying into her. If she was being completely honest, there was a part of her that loved it. It gave her the same sensation and physical release she received from cutting, but without the long-term damage. Had she known about this a couple of years back she might have saved herself some of the worst damage. She could have found somebody to hurt her instead of hurting herself.
He stopped his attack on her, lowered the riding crop and stood behind her, breathing as though he’d just been for a run. Her skin stung and she had hot tears rolling down her cheeks, but she felt light, elated and almost turned on.
The last part disgusted her, how could this turn her on? Had the years of suffering her father’s rape actually crafted her into some kind of sick creature who could only orgasm after being beaten? Her face felt hot from the tears and the shame.
“Are you ready to submit to me? Beg me to fuck you?” he asked, his hot breath caressed the skin on her neck and he pressed himself against her naked flesh. She could feel his erection pressing into her, and she knew she was close to asking him for it. She wanted to see him naked, to touch him and taste him. She just didn’t want to b
eg him for this. Some shred of dignity, or some spark of defiance, whatever it was...she just wasn’t there...yet.
“I never will,” she lied, and tensed up to receive the blows. They didn’t come; instead he stroked her spine with the tip of his finger and sent little shocks along her body with his touch. She was beginning to recognize his pattern of anger, punishment, followed by pleasure and kindness. It must be from some Russian mobster handbook on treating your kidnap victims, but she had to admit, it really worked.
“I beg to differ,” he whispered and drew his tongue along her neck. She shivered from the sensation and felt the hair on her arms go prickly. Her nipples tightened and were rock hard, her pussy was slick with her own juices and he hadn’t even done anything to her beyond the whip and small strokes with his finger and tongue. She felt him press harder against her and she leaned her head against his chest, her hair fell down her back and pressed in between them, effectively pinning her like that.
He rocked against her, grinding himself against the cleft of her ass. She could feel the fine fabric of his expensive suit, it was soft, his shirt was soft, her hair was prickly and his cock was hard. Thoughts began to drop off in her mind until just a few remained. The sensation of their bodies moving together, his breath on her neck and her growing need to have him inside of her again.
“I can’t,” she breathed raggedly, “I can’t explain it, but I just...I can’t…” She almost sobbed with her contradictory emotions. Her need was slowly overtaking her desire to fight back though, and she knew he could sense it.
He reached up and unclipped her from the wooden beam. Her hands dropped down, he stepped back and pulled her around to face him. She looked up at his face and was astonished to see he matched her feelings of desire. His face was mask of lust, of need, and control. “I still don’t believe you,” he said and applied pressure to the top of her shoulders. She guessed his intention and dropped to her knees in front of him.
“What would you have me do?” she asked and looked up at him from under her thick lashes. She knew what she was doing, she knew she would look stunning from this angle and she worked it to her advantage.
“Give me your hands,” he commanded. She lifted them up to him and he clicked the cuffs together, her hands were bound. She settled back down on her feet and dropped her hands to her lap. She was entranced as he untucked the front of his shirt, unzipped his pants and pulled out a cock that seemed unreal it was so large. She couldn’t help herself, her eyes widened and she blinked. It was also aesthetically pleasing, she would never tell him this, but she loved the look of it. She was also thankful it apparently hadn’t been damaged in the attack.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked in an innocent voice.
“You know what I want, open your mouth,” he said and she obeyed. He gripped his thick shaft with his hand and ran the tip of his cock along her lips, upper then lower, and pushed against her mouth. She traced her tongue along the slit, and the head that he had shoved into her. He grunted, a low, thick sound, an animal sound that weakened her knees. She was glad to be on the floor already, or she might have fallen down.
“Come on, little dove,” he said in a harsh whisper, “open yourself up to me. Give me what’s mine, I own your mouth.”
She loosened her jaw and slid her tongue around the head of his cock, he reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair and forced himself inside. She was unprepared for the strong reaction when he hit the back of her throat. She gagged, but he held himself there, he was relentless. “That’s right,” he said and didn’t move, didn’t pull back, “relax your throat, you can do this.”
His encouragement had a strange effect on Columbia, she breathed through her nose and forced herself to suppress another gag that was rising. She closed her eyes and opened her throat, allowing him to push further. He pulled back and she tightened her lips around the shaft, creating a suction. He groaned and said, “Fuck, yes, good girl. You’ve got it now.”
She was oddly excited by his approval, so she imagined how his cock would feel buried deep inside her pussy, and she shivered at the thought. She was surprised at how much she wanted this, all the fear and anxious desire to escape had left her mind, and now she concentrated on this moment with him. He wrapped his other hand in her hair and held her tight against him.
She could feel her saliva mixing with his precum, so she swallowed. He thrust forward at this and said, “Yes, drink me.” She almost writhed at his demand and swallowed again with the head of his cock firmly set against the back of her throat. He was breathing heavier, and started to slowly fuck her mouth, sliding in and out with rhythmic precision. Her lips made a wet sucking sound and his body smelled of fresh soap. He had showered for her.
He wasn’t going to kill her, she knew this with certainty, and in this moment she never wanted to leave. A dark corner of her mind considered the possibility that this was all part of her sickness, all part of the horrible things that had been done to her for years. That somehow it skewed her sense of being and allowed Dimitri to savage her body and claim it as his own.
But there was a bigger part of her now that wanted this, wanted to be owned by him, used by him...she just wanted him.
She made a small noise in the back of her throat as he withdrew, expressing her willingness as best she could. She wasn’t ready to beg him yet, but she did want him desperately. “You like this?” he asked and paused, leaving only a couple of inches inside her mouth. She tried to nod, but was unable to move her head that far, between his hand in her hair and his dick in her mouth, she was trapped. And she loved it.
In a bizarre twist, she found that the more he pinned her down, the more freedom she felt. It didn’t matter right now if this was from her father’s attacks, her own sick mind or too much internet porn, she didn't fucking care. All that mattered was the look on his face as he fucked her mouth slowly, holding her still and using her. She knew by the way he looked at her that he was no longer just using her body, he was trying to find a piece of her he’d never needed from anyone else. The scarred side of his face was in shadow, but she could still see some of it. The balance of ruin and perfection he wore on his body was perfectly poetic to every aspect of her life.
She felt him tense up and wished her hands were free so she could grab the backs of his calves and feel his body prepare to cum. He was breathing harder and staring intently into her eyes. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” he rasped, “come on, that’s good, just like that, open up and drink me down, little dove.” By now she was able to take as much of his cock that would fit, her mouth was working his shaft like a pussy and she ran her tongue along the underside of his cock as he pumped against her. She was proud of her newfound skill, and proud that she could bring him pleasure.
He stopped thrusting, she felt his cock jerk upwards and he came with a ferocity that astonished her. He pulled on her hair so hard that it brought tears to her eyes; he let out a long groan and said, “Fuck, yes, that’s my girl. You feel so good.” He then broke out into Russian, said a few words and leaned his head back. She wished she knew what he said, they sounded unbelievably sexy and she wanted to know everything that was going on in his head right now.
She swallowed every drop, she didn’t think she could, but she wanted to drink everything he gave her so she would please him. She could only think about pleasing him.
He released the grip on her hair and she felt him pull out of her mouth. She moved her lower jaw from side to side, loosening up her tense muscles. She had never worked that hard on a blowjob and she could feel the after effects. It had been worth it, he was stroking her hair and looking down at her full of satisfaction. He pulled her chin up to look at her face and said, “There you go, I knew you had it in you.”
He slipped his now soft cock into his pants, zipped them up and reached down to help her stand. She still had to look up at him, he was so much taller than her, and her knees felt wobbly from being so turned on, but she loved being this close to him.
She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and hold her, she felt vulnerable for needing him. She didn’t know if she liked feeling this way.
“Are you ready to beg for more?” he asked, his voice annoyingly detached. She didn’t understand how he didn’t want to get inside her cunt as much as she wanted him in there. But that stupid stubborn shred of self-respect, that defiance that had kept her alive wouldn’t let her say yes.
“No,” she whispered and looked into his eyes, daring him to make her say yes.
“We’ll see about that,” he growled and lifted her into his arms. She went limp, this time with lust and not fear. She melted against him and marveled at how small she felt in embrace.
He laid her on the wooden platform in the centre of the room, the place she had laid trembling in fear. The significance was not lost on her; this was almost a ritualistic space, one where he had tortured her for information and where he would now torture her by using her lust against her.
He unclipped her cuffs and she rolled to her back, trembling with excitement. He didn’t say a word, so she decided to keep her mouth shut. She was very close to giving in to his demands, to begging him for his cock, but she wanted to hold out for as long as possible.
He went to the cabinet and took out a crop. It was similar to the one he had used on her previously, but shorter with a metal handle. It had a similar bulb on the end and looked almost elegant in spite of it being an instrument of pain.
She could feel the lashes on her ass burn from the pressure of the table. It was oddly pleasant, a reminder that he had worked so hard on her body.
He held the crop in one hand and tapped the palm of the other. He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. “I see we no longer need to tie you to the table,” he said in a smug, amused tone. “You are craving something from me, aren’t you?”
She stared him down, answering yes in her head but her lips refused to obey. That stubborn streak was still winning out.