***
Less than an hour after I’d been released from the bondage in Ezra’s house, I was sitting in Max Gatov’s office staring pleasantly at my administrator. By then, every pore in my body burned from the discomfort, though most of my distress was from the agitated sexual energy that I’d had no time to take care of. I had the strangest sensation through the whole meeting that I was sitting naked before the man, sure that he could see my back and breasts with all the fading welts still showing in their criss-crossed patterns.
“Who gave you the authority on these articles?” Gatov said, throwing a file of my work in front of me. “Devil’s Spice? The Angel Wars? Where’d you get the sources for the illegal trades?”
“I don’t reveal sources.”
“To me you will,” he said.
“You don’t want the articles, I’ll take them to another publisher.”
“You know that’s impossible,” he said, reminding me of my agreement with the paper.
“Well, then I’ll bury them in my grandmother’s back yard,” I quipped. I picked up the file with an angry swipe of my hand.
I could hardly breathe sitting in the close confines of his office. Feeling as if someone or some thing was sucking the air out of the room, I was frantic to get out into the open. My mind was reeling back to Ezra’s house and the feeling that surged between my thighs; though I knew that Gatov wouldn’t take kindly to me spreading my legs and asking him to fuck me. And I was too pissed at him to offer anyway.
“I want a story on Darthganton’s great grandson, the one who’s just been appointed the bishop of Prague. He’s in town giving interviews. You shouldn’t have any problem getting into one of his press sessions. Just a straight-forward story, simple, no smut.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” I replied, trying not to sound as angry as I was. I started to rise.
“In a moment,” he stopped me, motioning me to remain in my chair. “I think you should know, Chloe, the budget for this part of the paper is being cut back, and I’ll be letting people go. Your name is on the list of those that I have to consider.”
“You’re considering letting me go?” I asked, appalled. Used to getting all the gossip of company affairs, this one took me completely off guard.
“Nothing’s definite.”
“So, you’re giving me a prime story with one hand, and then going to rip it from me with the other?”
“I said, nothing’s definite. Just fair notice.”
“And how am I suppose to take “fair notice?” I could see I was much too pissed off for his tastes, but then I really didn’t care. The sexual ache turned into a simple ache throughout my body and my life. Down to the very essence of me I ached for something I still did not yet know, but desperately needed.
“You take this politely, with a civil tongue and a good deal of grace, or you’re writing your own dismissal,” he advised me, adding a degree of firmness to his voice that I couldn’t help but understand. I really was almost on the chopping block. I had the feeling that Max Gatov was enjoyed watching me squirm as I went before the knife. He’d like nothing better than to see me let go, so that he could be claimed the winner in our challenge match.
“I don’t plan to take anything politely,” I told him. “And not with a civil tongue. And grace? Well, it’s not a word that’s been in my vocabulary. I’ve been at this paper longer than a lot of the women on the floor. I don’t have the university degrees but I have the experience, and I write circles around their wooden prose.”
“Writing isn’t everything, Chloe,” Gatov returned, his voice that steely calm that I hated so much. “If you listened to yourself, your mad rhetoric, maybe you’d understand why you’re falling off the edge in your life.”
“Falling off the edge, what a sweet sentiment.” I laughed. “The way I see it, all you want in a news staff are pretty-faced, submissive robots, churning out drivel so the paper never gets in trouble.”
The comment made him smirk. “Well, you already have the pretty face Chloe Duchet, it’s just the submissive that needs some nurturing,” he replied with a sarcastic twist. The supercilious grin made my blood boil so that I left the office without receiving his formal dismissal. I didn’t care.
I don’t know why we fought this way from the first moment we were in each other’s presence. Perhaps the age old theory of reincarnation had something to do with it. In another lifetime, perhaps during the last century’s war, we were in a bloody battle on opposing sides, so that in this lifetime we could enjoy our poisonous confrontations.
Rowena’s Journal was in my hands the minute I arrived home and had the door locked behind me. She was my place of solace, the spirit that understood me. While I lay back on the couch and read her words, I could imagine her sitting on my shoulder, whispering to me of that other life, that life I’d take on as soon as I had the imperious Sergei convinced. I hoped my lunch with Ezra had been enough to convince him.
11/20 - I never realized how devastating it is to be ignored, if not ignored, at the very least, left alone. Every hour I wish Boheme would come to me, if only to put me through another test, another of his horrifying sessions of pain. I miss the pain, the attention, the affection that comes through and the visions. Even when I masturbate I can’t seem to find that mysterious place that draws out the curious pictures. The pictures are frightening and I worry about them because they seem important. I would have thought that Boheme would have understood that when I spoke with him, but so far he doesn’t seem to realize their possible impact.
11/21 - Boheme has still not come, and I find that my pen has dried up. I have so little to say.
11/22 - I wait still.
11/23 - When I heard him rattling at my door at dawn I woke instantly from the anxious stupor that gripped me all night. I couldn’t sleep soundly, because I’ve slept too much already with too little to do. I knew he was about to approach me, I can see inside his brain and know that. I even dreamt that he came two nights ago, but my being soundly asleep, he’d tiptoed out. I knew if he came in my room again, I wouldn’t be that lax, I’d be sure to hear his entry.
“Rowena, how are your rings?” he asked, as he pulled me from bed.
Seeking the answer himself, he began playing with my labia, tugging at the pieces there to see if I’d wince and how much. There were pained expressions on my face, little jolts because all the places are still sore, but not too sore to manipulate. I’d masturbated plenty of times.
“They hurt but in a pleasant way,” I replied.
“Then perhaps you’d like to join me for the day?” he said. “I have guests for tea, ones that you can serve who will appreciate your adornment.”
The thought of leaving my chamber thrilled me. To spend sometime downstairs, where Boheme lived the rest of his life, excited me so much I must have looked like a silly youth as I watched him go to the, as yet unopened, closet and withdraw a dress for me to wear. At least it was somewhat fashioned like a dress, though it was clearly designed for a sex slave. Drawing the filmy fabric over my head, the silk dropped around me, the feeling of it strange.
The green gauzy garment was quite complimentary to the green ivy on my skin beneath it. Tying a sash about my waist, Boheme adjusted the material in front where there was a slit from the floor to my waist. Drawing the two sides away my jewelry became the focus of any man or woman’s eye. Diamonds and gold highlighted the wet dew collected there so I had the vision of it gleaming in the lights of Boheme’s parlor, even though I’d never seen that place before. I was to remain barefoot, a slave insignia. Taking the time to paint my toenails a green to match the dress, my master found my attire complete. Affectionately, he fluffed the blonde curls around my face until they were as he wished.
Before we descended, however, a collar was placed about my neck, a gold one. The tall encumbrance fit snugly, though not enough for me to worry about. Led downstairs with a chain fastened to that collar, I stayed two steps back from my master and entered his drawing room
. It couldn’t have been later than nine a.m., and yet it was already filled with guests.
“Ah, what a lovely one,” I heard one woman exclaim.
“You want her Dolly?” Boheme asked.
“Of course. I want to feel these toys of hers. New, aren’t they?”
The woman wasn’t hesitant at all, coming right up to me with her polished fingernails, discovering every treasure my master had placed on me. She gave each sensitive place a sharp tug and I tried not to gasp, knowing that would displease my master. And yet, he didn’t seem at all distressed with me when I let loose with a terrific cry, as the woman’s nails jabbed at my clitoris.
“She’ll pleasure you,” Boheme suggested.
“Would she now?” She looked me straight in the eye. Woman to woman, I could tell she was thinking devious things, ways she’d like to use me. I know she was trying to decide just how much she could get away with having my master so close by. “Would you mind if I slapped her here?” she asked, patting my sore crotch with the palm of her hand.
“That would be painful, but she’d withstand it,” he answered. He glanced at me as if to say that I could take what this woman dished out. He expected that of me, and knew I wouldn’t fail him.
“So, should I punish her here, or in private?” she wondered aloud.
“I say here,” another voice entered the conversation.
And so it was agreed.
While I was laid back on a divan feeling the lovely cushion behind me, Dolly knelt at my side and parted my thighs wide.
“You will keep them open, dear,” she advised me. “I’m just the sort to resent any disobedience. I know how much you’ll want to close these to protect your pretty pussy, but it won’t be nearly as much fun for either one of us if you do.” Her sugary voice was enough to make me want to wretch. I’m sure that any day I’d prefer the attention of a man to the dominant attentions of a woman. There was a vicious streak in this one, and looking up at her I was sure I’d get a thorough taste of it. Having no intention of crossing her, I kept my thighs wide apart, even as they dearly wanted to draw together in anticipation of the first smack. With saucy eyes full of glee and a dark heart in charge, she drew back her hand and then spanked it against my pubis with an angry slap.
“Ah, no!” I moaned.
She struck me again, and then another time. Instinctively my thighs were about to draw shut. Instead however, two woman on either side of me took my ankles in their hands and held them down, as surely as if there were cuffs on them. I could feel their longs nails digging into my skin.
While these women secured me, Dolly slapped my pubis more, and then at least a dozen times in an angry blast as if she had some ancient vendetta to avenge.
“Hand me a leather,” she said. Reaching up, she waited for a suitable implement to appear. The first that crossed her palm was a strap with four cut fingers at the end. In order for her to wield it properly she came around to the end of the divan and struck me squarely down the center hitting the tender sensitive skin about my rings. Each strike against the diamonds made it feel as if they would cut right through my flesh.
I cried with each blow, trying to engage some compassion from her, even though I was careful not to be too belligerent with my pleas, should I upset Boheme. Still, some strikes were so hard, that I angrily struggled against the women that held me, and those who had taken up positions at my head to hold my unruly hands. How I wished I could cover that tender spot. All the while I looked at Dolly’s face, knowing that half her satisfaction was seeing the misery in mine.
After a time, the woman’s eyes changed. Whatever thrill she had from me was gone, and she looked oddly bored by the activity. “There,” she said at last. “That should be enough to keep you happy.” Rising, she was off to some other diversion. I was no longer her concern. One of the four women who had acted as my shackles, having more compassion than the tormenting woman, moved between my legs taking her place. Though instead of causing more abuse to my genitals, she bent down and laid her mouth on my clitoris to soothe it. With the sensuous tongue bath proceeding, first from that kind woman and then two others, I orgasmed. My scream was nearly as contorted and wild as the scream in response to Dolly’s brutal attack.
When my climax finished, I was forced to rise. And for the remainder of the day, I was at the beck and call of twenty women. None played with me the way these first had. Most took little notice of me as I served everything from tea to ale, to brandy and Indian Firewater that three daintily decked out ladies drank in stiff shots as though they were in competition. By the end of the afternoon I was weary and the party’s festive atmosphere was dwindling away with the receding light. When Boheme came to me, whispering in my ear to see him in his offices, my heart was gladdened, just because I assumed that I would be able to rest.
Never having been in my master’s private rooms, I was dismayed to see what greeted me; for while the first was little more than a sitting room, a peek into the more inner sanctum revealed a torture chamber far more chilling than my room. Two racks were the focal point, and I shuddered knowing that eventually I’d be spread out on one of these. However, I had little time to peruse the other features of this chamber. With Boheme having entered the room, I turned my attention to him waiting to comply with his next demand. And yet, all he required of me was to sit near him in the sitting room.
“Your progress pleases me,” he said right off. “I should think you’ll be ready for more extreme measures soon.”
“More extreme?” I couldn’t help myself from questioning him aloud.
He didn’t reply to my question, but went on as he desired. “I’ve been pleased to see that you take punishment well. Strange how some women like yourself find such solace in the abuse of the flesh. I’ve often wondered if it has something to do with the guilt of your body’s power.
I shook my head unable to answer his philosophical question. The mystery defied me too.
“So you say that the sex gives you visions?” He asked the question that for days my ears had been burning to hear. Suddenly spoken, I was surprised to hear him speak to me not as his slave, but as an equal.
“Yes, yes I do.” The recollection of those strange occurrences shot through me, beginning an ache deep in my groin, which seemed to be associated with the memory.
“So tell me of them,” my master asked.
“You’ll probably think I’m going insane, I’m worrying about that myself—and not because I don’t want this arrangement with you. But what happens in my mind defies all understanding. The first time the pictures appeared, I saw Darthganton dead. And then, the day I was pierced I saw visions of the streets in anarchy. There was a new preacher, a blind man with a staff who seemed to be able to calm the rocky waters.”
I shivered feeling the power of the words I spoke as if I was writing the future. And to my amazement and relief Boheme seemed as taken with my curious musings as I was, for I saw him shiver noticeably.
“You believe these things are about to happen?” he asked.
“I have no idea, except that if I were to bet on the outcome, I would bet my life on my visions coming true.” Saying that there was such power in my voice it startled me.
“I can see you would,” he said as he appraised the intensity of my feeling. Drawing into himself, he appeared to be contemplating the pictures I’d spoken of.
The remainder of the evening was as strange as the rest of this strange day. We talked for nearly two hours, Boheme extracting from me the intellect that I’d swallowed up in favor of a sexual life. He asked me what I write about, why I need the journal. And I answered every question with the honesty he expected. Further questions were about my life, why I’d allowed the slavery to overtake me, “when it’s obvious to me that you’re no mere piece of flesh, but a woman of intelligence and substance.” He told me that from the first time he’d laid eyes on me, he sensed I was different, “Frankly, I’m not used to procuring slaves in storefronts. I was only there by accide
nt, and when I saw you, your eyes bore a quality that struck my imagination…”
He wanted to know many things about me. While I didn’t tell him of my parentage, I explained my past to him, how I happened to be pushed into the trades by Ryne, and how that first dominant man who had taken me while under Charlie’s mastery had given me a clue to the existence of my visions.
I thought we might have talked all night long. His presence was comforting; and to have the opportunity to give my thoughts voice, for the first time in so long, my animated story was happily embellished. When it was time to retire, he took my hand, lifted me to my feet, and insisted that I stare into his eyes. “We’ll see what visions there are to come, Rowena. I have a feeling there are more.”
I know there are more, the very idea of them sends such a sharp jolt through me, I’m sure that there are pictures just waiting to be seen and voiced, though I still do not understand why I have them, for what purpose I’ve been blessed or plagued.
Chapter Four
Sergei and I met again in the same bar, at the same table as that first meeting. He’d called me on the telly at work when I was in the middle of finishing a story. The intrusion into my day took me off guard initially; but after I realized what it meant, what another meeting with Sergei said about my mission, I could hardly work for the anxiety his curt words spawned. “I’ve made my decision,” he’d said. “I’ll be at the bar in the village.”
I found him in the beer hall, and repeated a scene much like the one several weeks before: me standing before him, waiting for him to either dismiss me, or invite me to sit. This time, he was alone. Pulling out the chair next to him, I had my answer.
“If you’re still willing,” he started, “I’ll have the contracts drawn. That in itself will cost you one month’s work. When they’re ready, the terms will be read in the presence of a magistrate and witnesses so it’s clear that you make this choice of your free will. You know that you give up some basic rights?”
Into the Dark Wilds Page 5