by Poppet
“Tested for what?”
Mikah drains his beer, leaving the dewy bottle on the glass coffee table which I know will be easy to clean. “You were used by strangers, kisa. Were you treated for diseases? Did you ever mainline drugs?”
“Never did drugs, I need my wits about me. Oleg gave me tablets to stop infection. I don't know what they were.”
“When was the last time someone fucked you?”
Shuddering, riding the chill raking my spine, I drop my gaze to his hand again. “No one, not since I left Oleg.”
“No one?” he sneers, his voice taking on a derogatory inflection.
It makes me angry and I meet his empty stare. “No one, Mikah. Not since I was more or less twelve years old.”
He sags back, taking me in. “Not even by force? You strip at dedushka's for strangers to jerk off to, you parade topless every night you work at Foma's, and you tell me that not once in all that time did you get cornered?”
“I'll fucking kill any man who tries,” I spit at him, the rage welling up. It's a madness that eats at me. I've stabbed men and don't know if they lived or died. I learned tricks on the streets, where skin is thin, where to stab. I know shit Mikah can't even imagine.
Now he smiles for real. “Good. This is good. It means we have fewer complications. I will talk to God tomorrow and see what he thinks I should do. Tonight we learn to be friends, yes?”
“Friends?” I frown. I know how a man and woman work together, I know friends is not the destination.
Giving me his entire focus, forcing me to stare into his chasm eyes, he says low, “You need to trust me. That can't happen if I hold you down and fuck you, or make you suck me off because I've been single too long. This is for keeps, kisa. You will first learn that I am a good man, a friend who cares. Once we have that trust only then can we build walls on the foundation.”
My skin is crawling and my voice comes out wispy when I ask, “You wanted to hold me down and fuck me?”
“It can be fun when in context, Polina. But that was before I learned of your past. Now I'm a teacher to you in many ways, not just to read and write. Until we are close friends I don't want you to trust anyone, I need you to stay safe and out of danger. Can you do that for me, kisa? Promise me you will stay in this house unless I'm with you. You have me to hide behind now, and I will destroy anyone who tries to take you from me.”
I nod, nervous, wondering if he's okay in the head.
“And you tell no one information, not the bratva, not Foma, not a stranger who phones. You never give out where we live or any personal information. Just play stupid and hang up. If someone knocks on the door, ignore them. If it's a delivery, you tell them to leave it outside the door and go away. You hear me?”
“You must have very bad enemies,” I whisper, my eyes large with worry. My heart is pounding and it's making my palms clammy.
“So do you, you just don't know it.” I'm about to ask what he means when the doorbell rings. “That'll be Chang with our takeout. Go wash your hands while I take care of it, he doesn't need to see you and start shooting his mouth off. I like him, I don't want to cut out his gossiping tongue.”
I do as told, walking into the bedroom with the en-suite bathroom. This is madness. There's no door, he will see me no matter what I do in here.
He owns me and I think somehow he got a bargain. I'm afraid, but it's too late to back out now. I wouldn't dare.
Squaring my shoulders I wash my hands watching the girl in the mirror. Russian men are all the same. They want to be in control, to be alpha.
And I know better than to argue. Sometimes the only way to live is with your mouth shut and doing as you're told. He might be nice. Might.
I really hope so.
~ Chapter 5 ~
Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires.
~ William Shakespeare
After we ate he took me to the bedroom and told me to shower. It made me feel small and threatened, but he said we must get used to seeing each other like that. It's healthy, it's a step in my healing.
“How is it a healing?” I argue, not wanting to take my clothes off, even though he's probably seen me naked already as he knew I danced at dedushka's and that men pulled out their things to play and stroke until they glistened with milky goo.
He sits on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, dropping it and letting me see the nagyka belt up close, the handle shortened so it fits. It makes me sweat to see it and I clamp my jaw tight, burying fear.
Then he stands, turning for me, letting me see all his body above his jeans, then flops down to watch me again. “You have a fear for men now, it's why you don't date, it's why you can't get intimate. If you get used to me while I get used to you, with us hiding nothing, being naked the way you said god intended for us to be, then you will get over your fear of being alone with a man without clothes. You will learn, Polina, that a man and a woman can be naked because they have trust. I can look at you and you can look at me, and it won't hurt either of us. Okay?”
“You won't touch?” I frown, my insides trembling so hard I'm sure he can see it. My breathing is all wonky and messed up from it.
“I will touch, but as a friend. We're going to be friends first, Polina. We will sleep naked in the same bed, you will see me walking around in the morning before I dress, and you will slowly get comfortable with it. Not all men are a threat, I will teach you, I am kind no matter what you've heard.”
“I've heard nothing,” I say too fast.
His eyes go blank again, just when he was becoming nice. “I know you heard the screams, but I won't explain that to you, it's none of your business until we're good friends I can't tell you anything. Now take off your clothes and get in that shower, or I'll be forced to make you do it and then you'll cry.”
My hands shake but I do as ordered, turning my back on him, stripping off my jeans and hoodie, then unclipping my bra.
His hand catching it right next to me strips my skin right off and I jerk away, turning to confront him with fright. “Mikah!”
His mouth deepens at the edges and he examines my bra. “Do all your clothes look like this?”
I nod emphatically, too afraid to speak. Why's he so fucking close? His skin is giving off heat that makes my hairs stand up.
Mikah shakes his head, grabbing my hand, “Come with me, kisa.” I have no choice while he hauls me from the bathroom to the study. It's really a second bedroom, but he's made it into a gym and study. He spent a fortune, money I could live on for ten years without having to work. He sits at the computer and pats his leg, “Sit.”
“On your lap?”
“Until we get another chair, yes. I don't bite, kisa. Now come, before I change my mind.”
I can taste blood and vomit when I sit on his leg, ramrod straight, too tense to breathe. He looks at my tit below his face, smiling, “This is how it should be, not in a bar with so many strangers around. Now, we shop for kisa clothes. You're too pretty to wear such old and gray nun underwear. You're a woman, it's time we dressed you like one.”
While he talks he's clicking the oval thing called a mouse, pulling up pictures on the computer screen. I'm so jealous of people who can read, who can find pretty things to look at on a computer. I've seen people do it and every time my heart breaks. I so badly want to be able to do it too.
“What size are you?”
“Um,” I shake my head. “I don't know. I just take what the lady gives me. If she says it's my size, then I believe her.”
He frowns at me, slowly letting his blank guard down. “Go fetch your bra, maybe the label will tell me.”
Hopping off his leg I rush to the bathroom, picking up my bra and running back, handing it to him, sitting back on his lap.
Mikah examines the faded writing on the inside, concentrating, then shakes his head. “Fuck, kisa. You make everything hard, even my cock.” He sighs over my skin. “Don't freak out, now I have to touch you to guess you
r size.”
“How will you know?” I ask, biting my lip, stressed by this.
“Because I've had a few of those female glands in my hands, and most girls tell me their size like it means something.” Then he plants a hand over each of my breasts, cupping and feeling, a frown pulling his pale eyebrows closer together. “You're a B, I think. Go get the measuring tape from my toolbox, I left it in the hall closet.”
I sigh relief when he stops focusing on touching my nipples and skin, leaving him to do what he says, finding it and returning.
He has a page full of pretty lacy bras with matching panties on the screen now, turning to me, ordering, “Lift your arms up, I have to measure your width.”
Doing as commanded I reach up while he winds the cold metal against my skin, sucking his lip in, focused on the digits, then turns back to the screen, clicking the size. “Go fetch my wallet, we need my card.”
“What are you doing, Mikah?” I ask, leaning over behind him to put my face next to his, my long hair draping over his shoulder and skimming to his chest. He leans his head back, resting it on my skin, looking up at me, “I'm buying my woman female clothes. You're not a boy. I want you to be pretty, Polina. Men do this for ladies, it's normal.”
“It is? No one ever bought for me before, it was up to me to do it.”
He smiles, looking happy, and it transforms his face so much I find I'm holding my breath again. “Go get my wallet, angel. Now, before you distract me.”
Nodding, I go, running to the lounge to find where he left his wallet after paying Chang for dinner. Scurrying back to him, becoming breathless, I sit back on his leg, holding to his shoulder this time, my legs between his instead of perched to the side, looking at the screen with the first fizz of excitement. “Men really do this? Why?”
He leans back in his chair, resting a warm hand on my leg. “It's one of the ways we let a lady know we care about them. We buy them stuff, it makes women happy.”
“Is this why girls always want a boyfriend?” I frown, feeling stupid and naive.
“I can't speak for all of them but yes, most of them want a sugar daddy.”
“What is sugar daddy?”
He laughs, giving me a squeeze, turning and giving the skin above my breast a quick kiss, “I am. Now you have a sugar daddy to buy you things.” Looking back at the screen he sits forward, his shoulder pressing into my back, his arm around my waist, using his right hand to click, asking, “Which ones do you like?”
“I … I even get to choose?” I squeak, disbelief swallowing my mind.
He sits back again, his expression darkening. “You aren't a bimbo, Polina. You have your own mind. I'm not a dictator, you can choose your own underwear if you want to. As long as it's feminine and pretty you can have whatever you want.”
A smile bursts out of my heart and onto my face, tears of happiness prickling my eyes. “This is the best day of my life.”
He laughs out loud, his torso rippling when his muscles jump. “Holy fuck, girl. I feel bad for you but am too pleased it was me who got to pop this cherry.”
“You like to spend money?” I ask, tilting my head to examine him, so close I can smell the tobacco on his breath mixed with beer, his deodorant still so warm and clean. It's nice.
“It's just money, kisa. If it makes you smile like that, then yes I like to spend money. Now come, help me choose with you, we have lots to buy. It'll all get delivered tomorrow and then you won't have to wear granny panties anymore.”
Nodding I lean forward, pointing at the purple set. It's so pretty. “This one.”
“And?” he arches eyebrows.
“And what?”
“Pick another one.”
“How much is it?” I frown, looking for the price. I know numbers better than letters.
He blocks the price with his hand, his voice deepening to gruff when he says, “Fuck the price, we need to choose at least thirteen more. You must have enough for two weeks. And I want you to wear fresh underwear every day. Right?”
“Fourteen of them! Mikah, it's too much.”
“How many do you have now?” he challenges, sitting back again, his arm still around my middle, holding warm and light against my hip.
“Two,” I answer.
“Do you wash them every night?”
“Yes,” I nod. “When I shower what I wore gets washed with me, every day.”
“Do you do all your washing by hand?”
I nod again, my greedy eyes looking at all the choices I have on the computer monitor. It makes me giddy.
“You know you have a machine now – to wash clothes? I expect you to use it.”
Sagging, life presses down on me. “I don't know how, Mikah.”
“I'll teach you, kisa. You can rely on me now. I'll teach you whatever you need to know.” His stare is insistent until I nod, feeling overwhelmed that there is too much to learn at once. “Now choose the rest, then we'll pick out shoes, skirts and tops, and some dresses. Okay kitten?”
“I can't repay you, Mikah. I don't make this kind of money.”
He looks at me, his pale blue eyes so close to mine that I struggle to focus. “Maybe you will be kind to me too? It will be nice to have someone care for me.”
“Why don't you have a woman?” I dare to ask.
“Because the only one I wanted was you.”
“Really?”
He laughs, shaking his head, giving up with shopping to look at me with his full focus. “Why did I sit at the bar instead of with my bratva? Why did I talk to you every night, Polina? You know me better than any of them because I took the time to know you, I made sure you knew my name.”
“But you just stared, I thought you liked my boobs or something.”
“I do like your boobs, but they're not enough. I want your soul, kisa. I want all of you. One day you will love me like you love air, that's what I need. Today is just the first step to us getting to that point. Now, pick out the underwear or I'll be forced to do it for you.”
I had no clue the man who just gawked at me with his homicidal eyes did it because he was interested in me. Nervous again I look at the screen, pointing to the ones I like, with two more to choose I feel so drained. “You choose the last two, I don't know anymore. I'm overwhelmed.”
And when you give a man control, he wields it. He clicks so fast, racing through pages, measuring me every so often, until I have more things in the shopping cart than the queen.
He types in the number from his card, hits enter (so he says, explaining as he goes), and then pats my thigh. “Now I'm tired too. Let's go shower.”
“You – with – me?!” I squeak, panic chasing away lethargy.
“I won't touch you, kisa. But you can touch me, if you want to? Soap my back where I can't reach, help me, and if you need me I'll help you.”
“No weird shit?” I blurt, panic welling up from my heart again.
“No weird shit,” he nods, crossing his heart. “I swear it.”
What choice do I have? I don't know if I'm allowed to say no.
So I say nothing, woodenly standing and walking to the shower, watching when he switches it on, getting the temperature right, the brand new razor and gel already in there. Stripping out of his jeans I look away, at the basin, keeping my eyes averted when he holds my wrist and walks me into the shower with him, closing the glass door, turning me so my back is to him and forcing my panties off.
He hands me the plastic bottle, “Soap up.”
“What's this?” I ask, twisting to look up at his face.
“It's shower gel.”
“I know it's gel. Where's the soap?” I ask, looking at the empty soap dish.
He smiles, and it's soft and kind. “That is the soap, Polina.”
I shake my head, twisting more, grateful my hair is so long. “Nyet, Mikah. It's a bar, it's called soap.”
Mikah rests an arm against the tiles and leans on it, hanging his head in the spray, exhaling long and hard. “Babe, trust me, t
hat is the soap. You aren't living in the slums anymore, okay? Squeeze some out onto your hand, you can use it to wash your hair and your body.”
I don't believe a fucking word of it, but do as he says, rubbing my hands together and watching it foam, raising it to sniff it. “This is soap? How did I not know this?”
“You stick to what you know, to what's familiar. It's okay, kisa. I'll teach you, just like I said I would.” He reaches over me, taking the bottle, spurting some out and leaving it in the shower holder, rubbing it into his hair until it foams white, and I stare at him, fascinated just to watch him wash his hair. It's sexy. His arm muscles bunch up and jump with the movement, and his neck seems so long and masculine when he tilts his head back to rinse his head.
He catches me watching him when he reaches for more, soaping under his arms, running his hands all over himself like a lover. When he does it it doesn't look like washing, it looks beautiful.
“You're staring, kisa.” He smirks, grabbing the 'soap' and turning me, tilting my head and soaping up my long hair, massaging his fingers into my scalp until it makes me feel weak. “Haven't you seen a man wash before?”
“Not since I was little, and papa looked nothing like you. His gut was big and hairy. I didn't like to watch him, it made me uncomfortable.”
Mikah soaps over my shoulders, kneading my skin, and it's all I can do to stand still, my legs coming over so weak and rubbery. “And me? Did it make you uncomfortable?”
“No,” I whisper, hanging my head, letting the water curtain my hair into sheets. “I don't know what I feel. I don't feel normal, like maybe I had vodka. Drunk maybe?”
“You're just tired, angel. Now give me your hand, wash between your legs. I don't want to touch you where you don't want me to.”
I do as told, wondering what this weirdness is. I'm afraid I might like him. I could stare at him wash all night, but I know that's rude. I've seen Foma fuck Talia, it was an accident, I walked in when I shouldn't have. He looked like papa, ugly naked. I didn't know men can look so graceful, like Mikah. He's pale, but like a dancer with his movements. Maybe it's because he's tall?
