by Henry, Jane
His phone.
I don’t need to find another one. All I have to do is somehow have him open his… find the password or something similar… and I could use it to inquire about Calina. It’s risky, though.
I groan inwardly. Too fucking risky.
He catches my eye and signals for me to come to him. And as I do, I notice a door ajar. In the room to my left is a large office. On the desk lies a phone.
My heartbeat quickens with excitement. I just need to find a way back here. A spontaneous thought occurs to me and when he’s turned away, I quickly unclasp one of my earrings and discreetly drop it on the carpet by the door.
Back in the dining room, our food is served, and I obediently sit while Demyan feeds me. It’s odd being fed like a small child, but I have to be on my best behavior, so he doesn’t even suspect what I’m going to do go behind his back. I nod and smile and act every bit the compliant slave girl he wants me to be. I wait until he’s had two mixed drinks when I turn to him, smiling, and put my hand up to my ear.
“Oh,” I say, with feigned surprise. “I must’ve dropped my earring at some point.”
He’s listening to what someone is saying at the far end of the table, so he’s only half listening to me when I speak. “May I look quickly in the hall by the restroom to see if I dropped it there?”
A shadow crosses his face, and my heart races. He’s not going to let me. Why would he? He wants me under his watchful eye. So it surprises me when he gives me a quick nod. “Go,” he says. “And be quick about it.” I get to my feet when his eyes narrow on me. “Don’t make me come fetch you, woman.”
My mind immediately goes to his closet full of contraptions suitable for punishment. I’m not sure if the acceleration of my heart is from fear or excitement. Maybe both.
I walk with my head down to the hallway, listening for signs that anyone’s following me, but I’m alone. I’m surprised he’s allowed this, so quickly into our arrangement. I see my earring still outside the door, so I quickly bend to pick it up. With my pulse hammering so loudly in my ears I feel faint, I gently shut the door behind me. I’m trembling. This is my chance.
I turn to the desk and run as quickly as I can, reaching for the phone. I just need the quickest of calls to make sure she’s alright. Hands trembling, I lift the phone, only to find there’s no dial tone. In a panic, I stare at the receiver. It’s connected to nothing.
A sob rises in my throat. It’s just for show. Of course they don’t have a regular office phone in here. They have encrypted cell phones, for crying out loud. I replace the receiver and close my eyes when the need to cry washes over me so powerfully my body trembles with the onslaught of emotion. I steady myself at the desk. If I go back now, and he sees me like this, he’ll know something’s wrong.
And I need to go back now.
I won’t give up, though. I’m not going to give up until I make the call that I need to.
I go back to the office door and open it slowly. I step into the hall, gingerly pulling the office door closed behind me when his deep voice scares the life out of me.
“Find your earring?”
Demyan stands by the door, his eyes narrowed on me. He knows this was no innocent mission. The gig is up.
“I did,” I say with forced cheerfulness, pointing to my ear. I plaster a fake smile on my face. “See?”
Nodding, he stalks closer to me, closing the distance in one stride.
I scream when he wrenches my head back, his fist tangled in my hair. “Did I give you permission to enter the office?” he growls in my ear.
“No, sir,” I whisper.
“Did I give you permission to touch that phone?” His voice is taut with control, but underneath it lies a threat that makes me quake.
“No, sir,” I whisper.
“And what, little kitten,” does he growl with his mouth up to my ear now. “Did I say would happen if you were disobedient?”
My stomach tightens with dread and anticipation. “You’d punish me, sir.”
There are no more words as he drags me, my hair still firmly in his grasp, toward the hallway. I’m only dimly aware of what he does, as the pain from him pulling my hair makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. He says nothing to me before he lifts his phone and growls into the receiver in Russian, likely telling his men he’s leaving to deal with his errant slave girl.
My stomach rolls with nausea, and he continues to hold me so tightly, pain flares on my scalp. I can’t even think about what awaits me. My only focus now is the death grip on my hair, individual prickles of pain that blossom into one single throbbing ache. I try to get away, dipping my knees and arching my back, but his grip is immovable.
He doesn’t even release me when he opens the door to his room, dragging me with my hair wrapped around his fist. I scream when he yanks my head and spins me out in front of him, pushing me to my knees.
Tears blur my vision from the pain, and this is only a taste of what’s to come.
He warned me. God, why did I do this? Why so soon, when I could have bided my time?
“Who were you calling?” he asks, arms crossed on his chest as he glares at me.
Shit, I’m not prepared for this. He can never know my sister lives.
When I don’t respond at first, I brace myself for the blow, but none comes. Grasping my chin between his fingers, he lifts my eyes to his.
“I asked you a question, kisa,” he growls. “You’re facing punishment for your disobedience. Your decision to answer me or not will make the difference between sleeping belly down in bed with an aching, punished ass or curled up in a cage for your defiance.”
He lets the weight of his words settle on me for one brief moment. I think I maybe underestimated how badly he can hurt me. What part of this ever made me curious?
“This is your last chance to answer me.”
“I went to call my friend,” I tell him, which is not a lie. Not really.
“They allow you to call people in mental hospitals?” he asks, eyes focused on me.
“Only during this time of day,” I lie, looking away from him. If I lie to him, he’ll know. There’s no doubt in my mind, he’ll decipher the truth.
“Strip,” he instructs, his feet planted apart while he glares down at me. With trembling hands, I clumsily remove my dress, but I’m too slow, and he grabs my zipper, yanking it down so harshly I hear the tear of fabric. When I’m divested of my clothing, he lifts me as if I weigh nothing it all, but there is no tenderness in this touch. It’s merely impatience to punish my body.
He’s bringing me to the bed. I was a fool for thinking I could get away from this. Why did I think I’d be able to manage a phone call without his notice? When we reach the bed, he arranges me like I’m a rag doll. First, my arms. He drags them above my head and snaps them into cuffs, the pull aching along my chest and back from being stretched like this. I’m on my knees, bared to him, unable to do anything to get away, when he walks away. I know he’s going to the closet.
I hear him rummaging through his tools, and I tremble with nausea and anticipation. I close my eyes. The brief caning he gave me was only a taste of what he would do to me.
How far will he go to punish me?
Now that I’m on the verge of paying for the sins of disobedience, I wish to make it stop.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell him. “I only wanted to call my friend. I didn’t even make the call. I had no dial tone, so I couldn’t even do anything.”
No response.
“I have hardly any friends,” I say, my voice trembling because this is true. Hardly anyone I care about in this world but Calina. “I promise you, I was doing nothing to escape. Nothing at all.”
Still, no response, but I hear him coming up behind me. My arms are so secure above me, I can’t turn around to face him, so I have no idea what he’s gotten from the closet.
“Please, sir,” I plead. “Please, give me another chance.”
“Oh, y
ou will have another chance to obey me, Calina,” he says. “But there is no escaping punishment for this chance that you failed.”
Then he’s right beside me, his mouth to my ear, and I jump when something trails along my back and shoulders. My stomach sinks when I smell the distinct scent of leather.
His heat is gone, and he’s standing beside me. I freeze, not breathing, not moving, I know what’s coming before it does.
I hear a whistling sound through the air, then I register the sound of a loud smack before I feel pain light up my ass. I scream in agony, writhing in my restraints, before another harsh blow lands. Over and over, he whips me with something vicious and unyielding. Merciless, barely a break between scorching blows. I howl in pain, pulling my wrists so hard in the shackles above my head my wrists ache, but nothing compares to the agony of this punishment. I’m sobbing, tears streaming down my face unchecked, writhing beneath his lash.
“I’m sorry,” I sob. “Please, stop.”
“This is not a game,” he grates out before another searing lick of leather. “You will not escape punishment if you dare to defy me.” Two more lashes fall. I’m splitting apart in agony. I can’t bear this any longer. I close my eyes, still sobbing, my nose running and salty tears in my mouth. With the first blow, he broke me.
I’m so weak.
So weak.
How will I ever survive this?
Chapter 8
Her virgin ass is striped with my leather, crisscrossed and welted from punishment.
She earned every lash tonight.
The only reason why I’m not sending her to bed with my come leaking from her cheeks after fucking her ass to seal her punishment is because I’m still waiting on the tests. Still waiting to know if I can fuck her with nothing between us. And this girl needs to be properly fucked. Mastered. Owned.
Her first real punishment is only a taste of what will come if she chooses to disobey me again.
My cock throbs when I stare down at her. And as she weeps, I want to gather her in my arms. To show her I’m an exacting master who will punish her when she earns it, but it doesn’t have to be this way. Doing so does not demonstrate weakness but control.
The others in our outfit have taken women to master before. Before I became the leader, Kazimir, our former brigadier, trained so many women he was held up as an example to the rest of us by Dimitri. But I never wished to train a submissive or a slave. To do so implies a relationship status I wished to avoid. I always preferred to use women as needed.
Disposable.
Expendable.
But this woman will be mine for months as she pays off the debt she owes, and tomorrow I’ll need her behaving perfectly for me. Punishment is only one of many methods at my disposal. I don’t simply need her obedience, but her loyalty. I ponder this as I stare down at her helpless before me, still tied to my bedpost.
I remove a small bottle of lotion from the bedside table and tuck it into my pocket before I unfasten the cuffs that bind her wrists. She slumps to the bed, spent, but I’m prepared to catch her. I fold myself onto the bed beside her, and draw her onto my lap. At my touch, she pushes away, turning her face from me and even trying to move her body from mine, but she’s weakened, so it’s an easy matter to flip her belly down over my lap.
I tip lotion onto my palm, hold her down over my lap with my left hand, and massage the lotion on her abused flesh with my right hand. At first, she hisses, squirming to get away, but I hold her tight.
“Ostavaysya na meste,” I tell her. “Stay still. This will help prevent bruising.”
She obeys me, stilling over my lap. I continue until I’ve rubbed every inch of her swollen, reddened skin. I take my time, deliberately massaging. She’s small but curvy and soft. Even punished, her skin as smooth as satin.
“No more disobedience, malyshka,” I tell her.
Little girl.
When I’m satisfied, I turn her over and bring her to my chest. My hardened cock presses against her ass.
“You liked that,” she wails in accusation. No more is she the regal woman who dined with me tonight, but childish, almost pouting. She’s angry I whipped her, but I’m not bothered by it. I don’t care if she hates me and hate me she will. My only concern is that she obey me.
“Of course I enjoyed that,” I tell her, not bothering to deny the fact that sadism excites me. Causing pain brings me pleasure. I never pretended to be moral or even halfway decent. “Why do you think I have a wall full of tools if not for enjoyment?”
“You’re sick,” she whispers. I don’t realize I’m wiping tears from her eyes with the pad of my thumb until my thumb is damp and her eyes are watching me with curiosity. I pull my hand away and hold her tightly. Her accusation is borderline rude, but she speaks truth. I dislike disrespect and will make sure she doesn’t defy me, but I want to hear what she has to say right now.
“Think what you will. You had a lesson to learn,” I tell her. “And I was happy to be the one to teach it to you, yes. You were fairly warned. None of this comes as a surprise to you. I could have ended your life or sent a man to do so, but instead I took you as mine. You were given instructions. You failed those instructions.” I hold her tighter, but don’t soften my voice. I want her to learn her lesson well. “I am an exacting master, Calina. I will not allow you to disobey me in any way.”
Something in me warms with her up against my chest like this.
I want to be both the one that makes her cry and the one that brings her comfort.
“I could have left you in those shackles overnight,” I tell her. “And let the salt dry on your cheeks and left your ass to throb with the punishment you earned. Or put you in that cage and let you lick your wounds alone.”
“Would you really?” she asks, lifting her tear-stained face to mine. “Why would you treat another person like that?”
Does she really question me now? I can’t help admiring her stubborn fucking perseverance at the same time it angers me that she fights this so hard.
“Why would you steal from people you didn’t know?” I answer her question with one of my own. “And why would you defy me, knowing full well you wouldn’t get away with it? That I wouldn’t allow you to disobey and that if you were caught I would punish you?” It’s a simple equation in my mind.
She doesn’t respond, but to my surprise lowers her head to my chest. My t-shirt is soaked with her tears, her ass hot to the touch in my lap. I hold her to me to soothe her tears and bring her comfort, reminding myself that while I will administer punishment when necessary, comfort after pain may solidify her desire to please me. Holding her now is part of her training. She isn’t weakening me.
“I know,” she says with a sigh. “I did know what would happen if I was caught. I’m sorry.”
And she truly does seem repentant. I don’t regret giving her the attention she needs after the punishment she endured, but I want her to know that the comfort only comes after she’s paid the price. Our session hasn’t ended yet.
“Get up and retrieve the strap,” I tell her. Releasing her, I point to the wicked leather implement I used to punish her. “And hang it up in the closet.”
Pushing away from me, she winces in pain but obeys, lifting the leather in her hand at a distance, like it’s a live snake that could bite her. She recoils when she looks at the reminder of her spanking, but walks to the closet and hangs it on the vacant peg like I asked.
“Good girl,” I approve. “Now go wash up for bed, then come back in here and join me.”
Tonight, she will sleep in my bed. I want her pretty, punished backside pressed up against my cock, her little body near mine. I strip and prepare for bed myself, then turn down the sheets. A few minutes later, she emerges, her face freshly scrubbed. Even with her eyes swollen and her nose ruddy, she’s beautiful.
“In your bed,” she says tentatively, biting her lip.
“Now,” I say. I have no more patience for chatter.
But when she joins me and
finds me in nothing but boxers, she grows shy. I take her hand and tug her to me.
She climbs into the bed and lays on the very edge of the mattress, as far away from me as she can without defying me.
Cute.
I huff out a laugh, pulling her to my chest.
“It will be harder for you to disobey me if you sleep by my side,” I say into her ear.
But still, she squirms a bit beside me, unwilling to settle. I give her a sharp smack to the ass. That settles her. I throw an arm around her to shackle her to me. She isn’t getting away from me. Not tonight.
I close my eyes, breathing in the faint lilac scent of her hair. So feminine and dainty, it stirs something in me. My cock presses to her ass, still so hot to the touch I can feel it myself.
I like her in bed with me like this. The only thing that would make this better would be her milking my cock with her tight pussy, her punished ass flush against me, riding me, or sitting on my face until she keened with pleasure. But we’ll get there.
“Sleep,” I order. Long minutes pass until she’s quietly breathing beside me. It isn’t until she’s in full slumber that I let myself sink into sleep.
The next morning, I wake and freeze. She’s turned to me, one arm draped over my chest, her knee hitched up on mine. I blink in surprise. She’s almost… cuddling.
And hell, I like it.
I smirk. She’ll be embarrassed when she wakes up and realizes she’s cuddled up to her captor like this. But for now, I’ll enjoy this little taste of her feminine innocence.
I breathe her scent in and out, so soft and fetching, and I don’t move. My mind goes back to the night before. I knew as soon as she tried to get away from the main area she was up to something. It was naïve of her to think I wouldn’t follow.
Who was she trying to call? Where was she trying to go?
Doesn’t she know what befalls her if she escapes? She’ll leave me no choice, because betrayal and escape would mean her certain death. Anything else would lose respect from my men.
Tonight, I bring her with me on public display, outwardly my woman. Tonight is a political power move that could solidify our political connections for years to come. Tonight matters. As I think about what needs to happen, she stirs.