by H. A. Kotys
That had been the men in her life at least. Taking her body, taking their pleasure, taking everything. Fucking her then fucking off. Fucking bastards.
Immelmann had been the prime example and she had barely twitched when she had watched him killed, having already written off any faint hope she had placed in that fucker. Raven could feel bile rising in her throat at the thought of him but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that she had used him just as much as he had used her. He had signed over half his precious property before he had lost his life and in that she drew a deeper satisfaction.
The mansion had been hers oh so briefly but in that time she had sampled what real security had been. She needed that. And now she needed Alexei.
The connection in her head startled her and Raven sat up, the chain from her collar clanking to pierce the silent cellar. Why? So many questions raced in her head but they all boiled down to why. She knew he had wanted it that way, hell, he had been conditioning what was left of her for days.
Yes, it was probably that, wasn’t it? Yet it felt like more. Was this how Katarina had felt when she had put her through hell back in the manor? No, it couldn’t have been, Katarina had fought it and ended up arm in arm with Amber. Was Alexei that much better than Raven had been at breaking a person down? Better. Yes, he was better. She looked up to him for that in more than just the literal sense.
Maybe he was more than the brute he had been painted as. Maybe there was more to his house than just intense intolerance. He hated Americans – he had made that perfectly clear while recounting the story of how they had twice tried to kill him and twice failed. Why had he told her that? It didn’t hurt her, if anything it just made her understand why he did what he did.
His visits to the pier had grown increasingly frequent in the last few days and where there had been those brief and matter of fact statements at first, they had now evolved into near conversations, at least from his side.
Water. Alexei had been bringing a water bottle for around a week now too and it had been four days since she had been subjected to the need to work for water – she had overheard him arguing with a woman just before one had been due. Perhaps they had even been arguing about her. What could have been triggered that? And who was the woman?
Raven had noticed the position Alexei now sat in, on her left side rather than right, offering her precious shade with his body. That was the side of his good eye too. All the better to see her with? They always say it’s the little things - and the little things were increasingly evident. She had felt his eyes exploring, particularly since they had started to string her up naked. Was he assessing her for something other than simple amusement?
Others had, many others. Raven thought she knew the signs but if he was displaying any they remained hidden from her as she could never quite twist enough to see beyond his legs when he was at that side. Her fucking shoulder never let her.
She would have to find a way to be sure. She would have to find a time. She had to test a theory. She had to know.
And with those thoughts bearing her, Raven finally drifted into the arms of Morpheus to dream of the sea, of the future and the face of Alexei smiling down on her, giving her pleasure instead of torment.
CHAPTER XV – Ringing The Changes
It was the day that her routine was changed. The destabilising impact on her rebased mind was disconcerting and Raven clung to the scraps of what was her new normal like a survivor clings to a debris.
Alexei’s legs were her consistent comfort now, his voice her reassurance and as he smoothed his rough hands over the ornate arms of his favourite high back chair, Raven leaned against those legs as if somehow touching them would give her the foundation she otherwise lacked.
One of his strong hands slipped from the chair and rested heavily on her silken hair, its lustre recently revived by the luxury of the shower they had shocked her with.
It was not the touch that surprised her, more her own reaction. As she stretched up to receive and revel in his contact, she heard a sound that she could have sworn was a pleasurable moan.
Squeezing her stockinged thighs together, Raven tried to quell the itch that had grown but all she could think of was how her hands had trembled as she had clipped the pure white stockings to the garter belt around her waist. Subconsciously she tightened her grip on the legs that were her rock.
The remains of her catsuit had been peeled away before the shower and she had almost felt human as she had shimmied a short, tight, expensive dress past her hips. White had never been her colour but it was either that or remain naked and no doubt anger him. So she had slithered into the garment and with a pained grunt, twisted to raise the back zip.
The platform heels with their fine filigree straps had never been her thing either, but as she wove them up her legs, she knew they were his choice and because of that something deep inside pushed her to admire them in the mirror she balanced in front of.
The shoes weren’t the end of it though. The next step of her dressing had caused her to pause and stare. Seven bands of brushed metal rested beside the mirror. They smacked of simple functionality rather than finesse and she knew precisely what they signified.
Slowly, Raven had reached for them before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopping. The fingers of her hand curled, clenching into a fist so hard it bleached the knuckles. It was what she had to do. No. It was what she needed to do. It was normal. It was the new normal and so, as she chewed on her lower lip, she forced her hand to relax down and rest on one of the seven cold, steel bands.
Her skin was still soft despite its recent battering of sun and sea and she circled one of the mid-sized bands with an elegant, exploratory finger.
They were beautiful in an efficient, unfussy way and she found herself bending to close the first hinged band around her finely boned ankle with a metallic click. Before she could contemplate the consequences of the act, its twin had circled her other ankle.
She had turned the third band over in her hand as the two around her ankles warmed with her body heat. Gentle bevelling on the inside showed that though functional, the bands had been designed to be comfortable for long term wear and their weight hinted towards the durability she already knew they would have.
As Raven had looked down, a gleaming lock of jet black hair slithered across one eye. ‘One set done,’ the practical element of her inner self whispered. She stretched out her left arm to receive the band, then her right for the fourth.
As her finely feminine hand with its long fingers and shining scarlet nails had taken up the fifth band, a smile had spirited across her painted ruby lips. Elegant fingers contrasted starkly with the functional metal, that contrast only sharpening as she closed cold, hard steel around the soft, warm skin of her bicep.
When the next had been done, Raven wore three matching sets of metal bands. One ring to go, the largest of the seven. It was clear what it was and the symbolism was not lost on her.
Collars weren’t new to her. She had worn them to hint at a submissive potential to taunt her victims, even as she had etched red welts across their backs. She had worn one for Immelmann too, though more as a cosmetic concession than in commitment. Raven narrowed her eyes, again remembering the woman whose arrival had destroyed everything she had worked for.
This collar wasn’t the same. She felt it but more than just physically. Raven had flexed it open and closed, testing the hinge as her mind spun.
‘Just a piece of metal,’ she had told herself, making it all rational. ‘His collar,’ she silently shot back. Why did she have to think of it like that? Was it a protest or justification? Raven’s mind spiralled yet as she closed it around her slender neck, one more word bolted itself to the end of the debate.
‘Normal,’ her inner voice had concluded.
Slowly she had raised her eyes, pushing the stray strand of hair back. Her breathing was deep as the chill of the metal clashed with the heat of her body. ‘Normal,’ stated her own voice ag
ain with more conviction, more surety but as her wide eyes finally met those of her reflection, her breathing froze.
Looking back at her had been a woman who still looked like her, though more than kissed by the sun now. She moved like her but as the room’s single light was smudged back in the glass, the woman that used to be undeniably Raven knew she was looking at a reinvention, someone new.
And so she clung on to the legs of Alexei, a lifeline of continuity in her changed world. He was her anchor, her foundation and as he stroked her hair, she heard a sound which was her own, a purring pleasure at the feet of her Master.
CHAPTER XVI – Contrasts
Alexei looked down at the woman clutching his bronzed legs. This American had strength to her, more than he had expected. She was strong enough to be a Russian woman but Russian she was not, and even while he stroked her hair as a vaguely condescending reward for her acceptance of his supremacy, his mind turned to the immediate future and how she would react to it.
It was difficult to tell. He knew that the woman had more than likely broken but she wasn’t like him. She was alien and not being of Russian stock, it was always a guess. He had taken Russian girls, of course he had – he had to so his hunger could be fed though even he would admit it had never been really sated. They were always stubborn at first but Russian women were brought up properly and, deep down, knew their place.
American bitches weren’t like Russian women though. Fed on a diet of liberation and misguided sexual equality, they were deluded into thinking themselves somehow equal and deserving of parity of place. “Fools. How weak of the American men to let them rise,” Alexei sneered to himself. They were stupid like their women and anger flared afresh, remembering the time when one of them had come to kill.
There was no parity here and nor could there be. Here, things were normal, as they should be. He stopped stroking her hair, snatched his hand to her chin with a strength born of disgust and forcefully twisted her head up.
== ~ ==
With the menace of rolling thunder, the word echoed around Raven’s head; Master. The last man she had spat those words at, she had ultimately watched die but Immelmann had been weak. This wasn’t the same. What the fuck was it?
Here was a man who caused even her to pause and reconsider. Alexei was the brute of all brutes and with his entourage of hate, he offered no respite, no escape. Delving down to the depths of her soul, he had mined a new level, torn a new woman from the poisoned one of old.
Woman? Was she even that anymore? Everything she was now lay open to question and re-evaluation and her mind spun to rationalise what she had become. Toy? Perhaps, but there had to be more – this wasn’t just fuelled by the normal lust she had inspired in the many men she had met before.
Her mind spun deeper, analysing, assessing, trying to work out why her, why now, just why….
Revenge? She was that. He had practically told her as much. Nothing else could offer such a potent fuel, could it? It was then that a word careered into Raven’s head that she hadn’t hosted before in all of her adult life; victim. Yes, she was that too and for the first time since her mother had betrayed her all those years ago and with that one word of graphic realisation, her eyes lowered and her gaze trailed to the floor before his feet.
Twelve days was all it had been though Raven had no way of knowing whether it was twelve or twenty. Her former world had been fatally fractured. His stubby finger guided her chin back upwards.
Blue and cold, his were eyes that windowed a chilling soul and she felt the penetration of that ice to her core. Like the harshness of the destructive northern Russian winter, she couldn’t bear it for long and deflecting her gaze back down, she once again found comfort in the muscular calves and focussed there instead. Had all that had been Raven flown?
== ~ ==
Ready. Yes, the Yankee bitch was ready. She had looked away from his gaze, a gaze that few had challenged and none had endured. He contemplated her lean body. She was thinner but then she had been worked hard without being properly fed. He would have to remedy that at least to have her look as he liked. She fucked well; he had seen that as she screwed herself to survive. Perhaps he should sample that, to see if the stories of American women and their morals were true. Yes, definitely he would.
‘Small breasts and little meat, not like good Russian woman,’ he noted mentally, but then added the thought that she had proved herself fuck-eager and was toned in a way that assured him of stamina. ‘A hungry whore is a hard-working whore,’ Alexei told himself, and resolved to use that against her too.
A nod from the muscled man at the ornate double door signalled all was prepared - and a returned nod set the rehearsed wheels in motion.
Alexei once again looked down at the face of the woman who willingly called him Master. She was not as old as he imagined she would be. She must have done well to rise to the position she had and the thought of her success lifted his arousal. He spread his legs wider to accommodate the feeling, pressing the cold collar into the soft, warm skin of her neck. She was his trophy, an underscore to his headline of power and yet she was also his vengeance and that ran far deeper than any fleeting thought to fuck.
With high, elegant cheekbones perfectly picked out by a practiced brush, smoky eyes that hinted of the devil that resided within and lips that spoke silently of the pleasure they could impart, she was a prize others would covet.
He was prepared to give her a month, and no more. No female had lasted that long but the plans he had for this one ran so much deeper, so much sweeter and so the generosity of a month was what had been in his thoughts. By then there would be little of her left to recognise and he had usually tired of them within the first couple of weeks anyway as fight melted away with the shattering of mind. The other American could wait, let Yuri have his fun, there was little left of her anyway.
Alexei’s arrangement had already been made with the Arab, a man not used to losing. Angered at his agent being outbid in the auction, Alexei had been contacted directly before Raven’s crate had even arrived and a negotiation had taken place. It was a meeting of mutual need and a deal had been struck that served both parties well.
Alexei would provide him with the female within four weeks. She would join the other girls hidden behind the palatial façade of civility and culture, tools for closing deals in the silent, secretive world of international trade. Delayed though it may be, the Arabian man would get what he desired.
In return, Alexei’s steelworks would get the Prince’s oil while the supply of his remaining rival would be strangled. Alexei would have the money to secure the election and tighten the choking hold he had on the neck of Kazakhstan, and all for doing something that he would have done anyway.
That was the first stage and the easy part and out of the way, the bigger deal was still to be concluded. Gas. A pipeline. He would transport the construction teams and material and his steel would be used in the fabrication – a fortune in anyone’s currency but particularly here where there would be no competition. Two bases covered then but the concession still had to be signed and that was an obstacle. He needed political power and that would come soon enough with the mayoral elections which, with the Prince’s dollars, he was sure to win.
It was the perfect plan but as he looked down again at the woman pressing her breasts to his legs, the stirring in his loins suggested he reconsider. She seemed to touch something that none of the others had, certainly not the hollow shell of the woman who was now being dragged into the room between his two bodyguards.
Looking at the living carcass only picked out the stark contrast further and, with a debate raging in his head, he smoothed his thumb across the precisely painted lips of the American in the white dress, smearing lipstick across her face just because he could.
Part 2
Dressing, Undressing, Redressing
CHAPTER XVII – Tolerance
As the twin grips on the woman’s upper arms were released, she puddled to the floor. Wra
cked by exhaustion, she curled up protectively, waiting for the kicks that always came. This was back where she had first entered the nightmare. While everything around her was the same, everything about her was changing - from the degradation of her looks through the sallowing of once bronzed skin, to the erosion of her humanity.
Lank, dirty blonde hair slapped across her eyes as her head, in seeming denial, twisted away from the large man who dominated the room from what could only be viewed as a throne. She was glad of that matted veil as somehow she felt it hid eyes that would only display her despair.
Hunger gnawed at her but that was just one of a host of agonies that her body and soul encountered. Desperate not to add to her suffering, she scuttled quickly away from the two men, pressing herself against the step which seemed, to her tormented mind, to offer a modicum of sanctuary.
== ~ ==
Naked. Anywhere else and at any other time, perhaps it would have been normal for hands to quickly reach to cover and preserve a crumb of modesty. This was Alexei’s domain though and in that domain, nudity was just another tool to strip away unwelcome rebellion. As he looked down, Alexei could only smile at how the woman, now a hollowed-out shell who cowered against the step, had been so efficiently broken down to this feral base. And it had been so quick. How weak she had been.