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Wallbanger

Page 10

by Sable Jordan


  Obvious and arrogant.

  He checked his watch—Marchande would need at least an hour—and settled his gaze on the man seated behind the wooden table, rifling through a drawer. Sacha removed a mirror and a baggie; went about preparing lines of cocaine.

  Dropping into a wingback, Xander declined the hollow pen shaft his host offered.

  “Purest white this side of the Atlantic. Sure you don’t want a pinch?” Sacha asked with a slow smile. He inhaled a line and sniffed.

  Xander shook his head. “Talk first.”

  “No playing until business is done.”

  “Is that what this is, Sacha? Business?” He didn’t bother to mask his sarcasm. “I was under the impression tonight was all play.”

  “Nikolay always said you were a very serious man.” He tossed a bag of powder on the table. “For later. Get a little in that pretty bitch and she’ll scream and beg all at the same time.”

  He lifted the bag in thanks and slipped the blow into his breast pocket. “Any news on Nikolay?” Xander asked, diverting the topic from Kizzie.

  Sacha frowned. “Why would there be news? You know as well as I do that he’s dead.” Another line and he groaned with delight. “This is why I wanted to talk to you, Xander. Obviously, my father’s business is now under my sole control, which means we need to renegotiate your involvement in it.”

  “‘Renegotiate my involvement’,” Xander repeated slowly. Already the man was making a move.

  “Yes.” Sacha grinned. “Nikolay was going soft, too…Americanized—no offense intended. The way he dressed and the way he talked. He wanted that easy life, and once he knew he could have it, he lost the hunger for this business.

  “First he loosens his control in supplying the rebels, lets another dealer take that on; just gives it to him.” He shook his head. “It’s like the drug business. You don’t let another dealer sell on your corner, on your block, or in your city. Know why?”

  Xander took an impatient breath, but indulged him. “Why’s that, Sacha?”

  “Because the junkies will get their fix from him—taking money out of your pocket. Those rebels, they are the junkies. They don’t need the plastics and guns and ammo Nikolay sold them, but they crave it. Have to have it even though no one around is strong enough to challenge them; not the army, or the police, and definitely not the little tribes they fight. But who’s getting that money now? The other dealer, because my…father could no longer stomach the risks. Weak….” He sneered as though there was a rancid taste in his mouth. “Bad business to make the next guy rich and make yourself a fool, yes?”

  Another hit of white powder and Sacha lifted his glassy gaze. “Do I look like a fool to you, Xander?”

  * * * *

  The door shut, leaving Kizzie with the two bobbleheads, one still bowed on the hard floor, the other standing with her gaze in the same direction. Staring at the ground made her neck hurt and she lifted her head to the ceiling to stretch it, looked over the upright marionette. The girl was of East Asian decent, straight black hair falling just to her shoulders. She was shorter than Kizzie by a couple inches, with a slender build and little feet. She looked so frail and delicate, but her face was bubbly and joyous as a cartoon character’s, with bright eyes and a tiny pink mouth.

  “What’s your name?” Kizzie hadn’t heard Sacha when he barked it.

  “Kas—” she paused and then smiled, clasped her hands in front of her body, “Kasumi, but everyone calls me Sumi for short.”

  “And her?”

  “Zlata.” The girl kept her voice so low it was almost nonexistent.

  Nothing’s louder than silence in a madhouse, Kizzie thought. She’d have to be careful, but if she played her cards right, the subs might be a source of invaluable info about Harvey, and her next—blech—Master.

  “Come,” Sumi whispered, “I will show you around.” She headed off in the direction of the playrooms.

  Kizzie followed, noticing the tattoo on the girl’s shoulder. Hard to make out through the ropes, but it appeared to be a circle in a circle, two characters inked beneath them. Marks around each ankle depicted a coil of knotted rope similar to the ones she wore on her body. Talk about devotion to your Master. “What about her?”

  “Zlata will stay for the Kukol´nik . It is her place.” The woman’s voice was so dreamy Kizzie wondered if she’d been smoking something. “Besides, you will have a hard time understanding each other, Gigi. Zlata only speaks Russian. Are you fluent?”

  Kizzie lied.

  “I only know a few phrases,” Sumi said. “But I hope to learn.”

  Her place. She mulled those words over in her head.

  On the first pass through the house Kizzie noticed there were no male subs in the building—and no female Dommes. Clearly Sacha had mommy issues. She wasn’t sure how long she’d last with him referring to her as “bitch”. He didn’t know how close he was to having his balls kicked in. And ‘Kukol´nik ’? Puppet Master? Pull their strings and make them dance, he’d said. She was beginning to like Sacha less and less.

  A slow tour through the first set of torture rooms and Kizzie had seen enough the first time. This party was vastly different from what happened on Xander’s yacht in Mauritius. The people there seemed genuinely fulfilled in their roles as submissives—fine by Kizzie so long as they wanted to.

  Sacha’s girls looked barely legal, underfed, and didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves at all. That is, she amended, if they even knew what was happening. Catatonic was putting it mildly. Living dead was more like it. She’d already determined Sacha was on coke by the way he constantly played with his nose and the glazed eyes. No reason to assume the girl’s weren’t addicted to something too. The guardian in her screamed, and she decided she couldn’t retire from this business after all, because once this gig was over and Harvey was in hand, Sacha Sokoviev would die.

  Kizzie wished she had her shoes on. A random thought to think after premeditating a murder, but something about walking around this place barefoot made her work to recall the date of her last tetanus shot. The chateau was immaculate inside, everything polished and dusted and shiny-looking, but it still had that New York City side alley feel to it. Grimy.

  They turned up a corridor off the main one they’d travelled. “The front hall features all the puppets and pay-for-play,” Sumi began. “The Kukol´nik allows Doms without slaves to play with us sometimes for a price.

  “But the submissives on this hallway are slaves to visiting Masters.” Sumi’s voice was a bit louder than before, but still just as dream-like. “Every girl inside is collared, like you, and most of the Masters are teaching other Dominants advanced edgeplay techniques.”

  She stepped inside a room and Kizzie followed. A handful of people stood about in absolute silence. On the bed, a woman laid spread eagle on a tarp, hands and feet secured by shackles to the heavy wooden bedposts. Apart from the blindfold over her eyes she was naked, open legs facing the doorway with a clear view of her nether bits.

  At the head of the bed, a man sat beside her, quietly whispering to the girl. A woman wearing latex gloves approached, clad in leather pants and a tight black bustier that forced her large breasts up higher. She removed a needle from a sterile package and, once given the signal from the Dom, uncapped the sharp point and gripped a small portion of the bound sub’s belly. Moving slowly, she inserted the needle into the skin, pushing until the point came out on the other side.

  The girl on the bed cried out, tugging on one chain. Then she settled again as though nothing had happened.

  Kizzie thought she’d faint. For someone who handled knives regularly, needles made her squirm. She absently wondered if Xander was into this.

  “Have you ever done a piercing scene?” Sumi asked quietly. When Kizzie shook her head she turned to show the set of puncture wounds on her upper back. “It is an amazing rush. It’s like…like pain and….” She sighed. “I can’t explain. The Kukol´nik will show you.”

  Like hel
l he will.

  They watched the process over and over until the piercee had one vertical line of horizontal-facing needles on either side of her belly button. The man removed the panting girl’s blindfold, and she looked down at the work on her middle.

  “How do you feel,” the Dom asked aloud.

  She tilted her head to look at him with pleasure-filled eyes. “Great, Master. Thank you.”

  The other woman corked the ends of the needles before standing between the spread legs. Knees on the bed, she bent in the space, the move revealing a perfect split along the seam of her pants that exposed the tight pink rosebud of her anus. She put her mouth on the bound girl’s body, making her writhe in the bindings.

  A male member of the small audience donned a rubber and positioned himself just behind the ass in the air. The woman paused her clit-job long enough to spread her legs wider, allowing him to seat himself in her anus, and then resumed eating the pussy she’d abandoned.

  Whoa. Kizzie’s eyes widened, staring at the three people on the bed. The Master looked on from the head, pride in his eyes.

  “Sex with the needles still in…” Sumi shivered happily. “You like watching, Gigi. I can tell; you’re all flushed.”

  The man’s hips snapped against the woman’s ass, and Kizzie felt her own body respond. She fanned her face.

  “I know,” Sumi agreed.

  The triplet on the mattress finished their show with the pierced woman screaming and the man pulling from the middle woman’s body. Her ripped off the condom, stroking his dick firmly, coaxing until his seed spilled all over her ass.

  “Anyone else want to go?” The Dom asked, unshackling the bottom.

  Sumi looked at her, and Kizzie declined. “Another scene, then.”

  The two travelled from room to room, half of Kizzie’s brain in horny-mode from watching threesomes and spankings and sex in positions she was sure defied physics, the other half mapping out her route through the complex. She kept track of each hallway on a mental grid, and a smile on her face while Sumi spoke.

  “Where’s Sacha?” A pudgy man in a brown shirt stopped the pair en route to the office.

  Sumi kept her head bowed, didn’t flinch as the man ran his hands over her breasts. “In with another, Master Vadim.”

  The man twisted the girl’s nipple, slapped her breast. Then he turned to Kizzie. “Who’s this?”

  “Gigi. She is a visiting Master’s submissive.”

  “Hello,” Vadim said.

  Kizzie didn’t respond.

  “I believe Gigi is only allowed conference with the puppets, Master Vadim,” Sumi explained.

  “Understandable. Have a good evening.”

  “Likewise.”

  He departed and they moved along without incident.

  “Thank you,” Kizzie mumbled.

  Returning to where Zlata still sat in her “Please, ’ave mercy, guv’na” stance, arms fully extended toward her owner behind the door, Kizzie took a breath to keep from screaming. If the “demonstration” Sacha put on was a regular occurrence, this girl was being abused. The way Xander was with her—firm at times, gentle others and generally confusing the hell out of her—that Kizzie could do. She could handle that kind of mindfuck. Not that she was looking for it, but if she were…. If this was the Lifestyle, this complete disregard for one’s personal safety, they could have at it.

  On a settee across from Sacha’s door, Sumi’s stiff posture reminded Kizzie to sit upright. She closed her knees and straightened her torso. Uncomfortable, but she held it. Then she implemented operation flip-a-sub. If one of these girls would talk, they might tell her about Sacha’s patterns and she could use the Intel to determine where he was hiding Harvey. Given that Zlata wasn’t allowed to move, Sumi seemed the logical choice.

  “How many subs does your Ma—”

  “We are not ‘subs’ here, we are puppets. The Kukol´nik prefers it that way.” Pleasant smile.

  Her eyes found the rope around the girl’s neck. She’d wondered at the simple collar with the black ‘SS’ embossed in the white leather square. Now it made sense—hang tags. Like the type one would find on a doll—or a puppet—in a toy store, the ‘SS’ for Sacha Sokoviev, no doubt. Kids usually wrote their names on their toys.

  She returned Sumi’s mild gesture and reworded the question. “How many puppets does he have?”

  “Ten,” Sumi responded, then her face clouded and she corrected with, “I mean, nine. We recently lost one.”

  The doll didn’t elaborate, but from what Kizzie had seen of his subs in the playrooms she figured he’d probably beaten the stuffing out of the poor thing. Sacha didn’t appear the type a puppet left. Not breathing, anyway.

  “How did you come to be his su—puppet?”

  The question made the smile falter a hair, but Kizzie noticed.

  “I was lucky to have found him. We met at a club in Tallinn a year and a half ago. Then he brought me here to his castle.” She lifted her arms and spread them wide to indicate the vast space. “And you? How did you meet your Master?”

  Went to see a man about a boat…. “Known him for years,” Kizzie said, deciding to spare the girl all the grizzly details. The answer didn’t appear to suffice and she added, “Oh, you know, the usual, he said ‘jump’, I asked ‘how high?’, and the rest,” she shrugged, “is the rest.”

  Sumi’s eyes rounded. “Romantic!”

  “Uh…yeah….” Already casting for the Lifetime movie.

  “He’s very good to you. A very pretty collar for a very pretty sub.”

  Kizzie had forgotten about the neckwear, but noticed the extra attention the girl paid her exposed breasts.

  “I’ll be happy to show you the ropes if you become Sacha’s puppet.” Sumi giggled at her pun, a tiny little sound that barely shifted the constant upturn of her mouth. Her voice lowered further, and she reached out a hand to rest on Kizzie’s knee. “It can be hard sometimes with a Master, yes? We puppets…we stick together.” Solemn, she looked Kizzie in the eye and nodded, gave her leg a little squeeze. “Are you thirsty, Gigi?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “If you need anything, just let me know. Zlata,” Sumi whispered, “Khotite vody?”

  The statue didn’t answer. Did stones drink water?

  “Will you be okay here for a while? I am hostess in the Kukol´nik ’s absence and should attend to the others before he is finished with your Master Duquesne.”

  “Sure.” But she really wondered if Sumi was going back to play with Master Vadim.

  On silent feet, the girl departed quickly, and Kizzie turned her view to Zlata—well, Zlata’s ass, to be specific. How the woman had maintained the position this long she didn’t know.

  She walked over, dropped to the floor. Long, curly black hair thinned in the back, like it had been snatched and pulled frequently. The bones of the girl’s spine and hips were etched in bas-relief on pale skin, the gangly body severely in need of food. The ropes that covered her barely held and through them, angry red cuts were newly scarred.

  Yep. Sacha would die a slow, agonizing, painful death.

  Avoiding the urge to reach out she whispered, “Zlata?” No response, and Kizzie studied the body to make sure it was still breathing. The ribcage lifted and fell, and she tried again. “Zlata.”

  “Go away. You not speak to me. He will hear.”

  It came back in soft, barely audible English. Not friendly, but English. She wondered why Sumi believed the girl only spoke Russian. Was she not supposed to speak to her?

  Still beside the human sculpture, Kizzie looked around quickly to see if anyone was headed their way. “Talk to me a moment.”

  The devotee kept up the silent worship and Kizzie got off the floor. Zlata would be a dead end, and she hoped she didn’t mean that literally. Sumi was her best bet. Wondering where the other puppet had gone off to, Kizzie decided it was time she did a little looking around for herself.

  * * * *

  Sacha leaned back
in his office chair, the delightful haze his habit blessed him with beginning to fade slightly. He could tell Xander had not expected this, but it was better to strike now, while the man was at his home, than to wait for them to be on neutral territory. Man or woman, didn’t matter, everyone was just a puppet in Sacha’s production. He controlled all the strings. He had the power to make them all twist this way and that, this Amerikanskoy included.

  “Let me get this straight,” Xander said. “The new offer grants me the right to distribute Harvey to any potential buyers in the smaller territories—Cuba, a couple countries in South America, New Zealand, and…where was the other?”

  “French Guiana.”

  “And this is only after I pay a nominal fee of and additional 35 million? The better question is, do you think I’m a fool?” Sacha smirked and Xander continued. “All of those areas are in the weapons-free zone; meaning the likelihood of me finding a buyer is nil. What am I supposed to do about the clients I have lined up?”

  “Not my problems,” Sacha said. “See, I have Harvey. That I’m not cutting you out completely should be taken into consideration here. I know you and my father had a different arrangement—

  “A different arrangement? I was the to be the sole owner.”

  Sacha continued, undisturbed by the outburst, “—but now that I’m running things, it’s time to get this ship back in order. If we were on the streets, I’d have already killed you for trying to sell in my city.”

  Xander rubbed a hand over his chin.

  That’s right, puppet. Dance….

  “I don’t want to kill you, Xander. I simply want the chain of command to be more defined than when you worked with Nikolay. I control the manufacturing, you distribute, after paying the fee, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “35 mil gets you into the club. After that, an 80/20 split on all sales is more than fair.”

  A chuckle. “I’m assuming the 80’s in your favor.”

  “I’m covering the bulk of the operation,” he sniffed another line of white powder, “you’re just selling it.”

  “Like the drug game….”

 

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