Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  “Yes, sir.” She goes back to chopping her onions.

  I leave the kitchen, knowing Tricia will get it all done and head to my workout room. There’s a full bathroom attached, and I can shower there without having to go back to my bedroom.

  Because she’s in there and I can’t see her yet.

  I can’t look at that wounded look on her face. I turn the hot water on and step inside, dunking my head under the stream. Blood washes off my cock and pools at my feet before it swirls down the drain. Her blood.

  “Fuck!” I yell into the shower.

  Nothing with this girl has gone the way it’s supposed to. I have a system. A very strict, easy system when I get a girl to train. I explain the situation. I set the rules. I show them what to expect and I teach them the shit they don’t already know about serving a man sexually. But none of that has gone right with her.

  I’ve fucked unwilling women before, even harder than I fucked her, but I’d given them pleasure. They were high on orgasmic waves when I thrust my cock into them the first time.

  This girl gets to me unlike any other I’ve trained. I haven’t even started the training!

  I need to get my head out of my ass and get the situation under control. She’ll be pliable now. No more fighting me for control. Fuck, she doesn’t even want control. This woman is a natural, willing submissive and all I have to do is tap into that - but instead she fights me every fucking step.

  But right now, she’s hurting. Not just from me forcing her, but she’s starting to understand the hopelessness of her struggle. She can’t win. She can’t run. She’ll just have to give in.

  I turn off the water and dry off quickly. Right now, she’s soft, if I work with her tonight, maybe she’ll start to grasp the situation and work toward making the best of it. It doesn’t have to be all bad. If she learns quick and does what she’s told, I can get a good buyer for her. Someone who will at least take care of her - won’t just stick her in a cell and fuck her whenever the mood strikes him.

  Like my father does.

  Just thinking of him makes my stomach twist.

  I grab a new pair of jeans, one without the stains of her blood on them, and yank them up.

  After I finish dressing and comb back my wet hair, I make a call for the house physician to meet me at my apartment and head up to meet him. She’ll be scared to see another man entering the room, it’s best if I’m with him.

  “Kristoff.” Dr. Morrow nods in greeting when I find him at my door.

  “Hey, doc.” I shake his hand and snag the key from my pocket, letting us into the apartment. “She’s in the bedroom.” I consider going in first, to warn her about the exam - but disregard it. I can’t coddle her, not now. She’s had a shit day, and she needs to learn that shit days don’t mean you don’t have to follow rules and can decide what happens next. Going easy on her will only make things harder for her once she’s transported at the end of the week.

  If the good doctor has any concerns about the bedroom being dead-bolted from the outside, he’s smart enough to keep them to himself. But he’s been the physician at my father’s estate for long enough to find very little about what goes on around here unusual.

  Magdalena is sitting on the bed, blood stains her thighs and the bedding beneath her. She hasn’t washed, and by the look of the tray sitting on the end of the bed, she hasn’t eaten either.

  “Magdalena.” I walk over to the bed. She doesn’t react. “Magdalena,” I say with more force. She looks up from her lap, streaks of dried tears stain her cheeks. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Magdalena, you were supposed to shower,” I remind her but soften my voice.

  “I—” she blinks. “I’m sorry.” She unfolds her legs and scoots to the end of the bed. I help her stand and she gives me a wary look. She’s scared. I feel it in her trembling body. She’s frightened of me.

  The dark pit in my stomach burns.

  “Here, I’ll help you, then the doctor can look you over. Okay?” I scoop her up into my arms and carry her to the bathroom.

  She’s stiff in my arms, doesn’t answer me or fight me. Like a sack of flour.

  “Warm bath should help,” Dr. Morrow says as we pass him. “I’ll strip the bed and call for Tricia to come change the sheets.”

  “She should have fucking done that when the food was brought up. I want to know why she didn’t tell me this was going on.” I nod toward my girl in my arms.

  My girl.

  Dangerous thinking for a man like me.

  She can’t be mine.

  Especially not after what I’ve done.

  I’ve broken her.

  “I need you to sit here, okay?” I place her on the toilet lid and wait for her nod before I work on getting the tub filled with warm water. She won’t look at me. She isn’t crying anymore, but she won’t speak either.

  “Magdalena, did you take the ibuprofen I had sent up?” I ask, testing the water with my hand.

  She nods.

  “All three?”

  She nods again.

  “Why didn’t you eat?”

  A shrug.

  “I told you to eat.” I firm up my voice and at least I get a reaction. Her shoulders tense. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then Dr. Morrow will check you over, and then you’ll eat. Every damn bite. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she whispers as though I hit the response button on her motherboard.

  A fucking robot.

  I sigh and lift her from where I have her perched and ease her into the bath. She leans back and closes her eyes, not stopping me in my mission of washing away all the evidence of the violence of our last encounter.

  Other than tensing when I bring the washcloth close to her pussy, she lets me have my way. For once. I shake my head, this isn’t the submission I want from her.

  “Do you hurt anywhere?” I ask, pulling apart her pussy lips and running the cloth gently through her folds.

  “No,” she lies. I glance at her and find a glimmer of fierceness in her eyes. The light isn’t dead, just dimmed.

  I don’t chastise her for the lie, chasing her away now would be stupid. And I’ve already used up all my stupid for the day.

  “Okay, lean your head back.” I go about washing her hair. Short dark locks that easily allow my fingers to comb through. While she has her head leaned back, I admire her neck. Long and soft - a perfect place to kiss, to bite, to wrap my hand around.

  “All done,” I announce, and she pulls her knees up to her chest.

  I uncork the tub and the glugging sound of the drain fills the space between us. I grab a towel from the rack. “Stand up.”

  She still doesn’t move. I coddled too much.

  “Now, Magdalena. I can’t dry you off if you’re sitting - get up.” I hold out the towel. She grimaces with her movements but gets to her feet. “Hands at your sides,” I order, and she listens.

  I wouldn’t mind a bit of snark at this moment.

  “The doctor’s waiting. And I expect you to do everything he says, no matter how you feel about it. Understand?” I finish wringing out her hair and point to the door.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I’m beginning to hate that phrase.

  “Good.” I snap my fingers and move ahead of her, making her follow me into the bedroom. Tricia must have come and gone. The bed is remade. The tray has been moved to a nearby table.

  “Hello, Magdalena.” Dr. Morrow steps between us, blocking me from her view. “I’m Dr. Morrow. I work for the Dowidoff family and my job is to make sure you’re in good health. I need you to lay on the bed for me, please. All right?” His pleasant voice grates on me. Her visual acceptance of him being there, her nod, irritates me more.

  Dr. Morrow glances at me, then at a chair in the corner of the room. Obviously, he’d like me to stay out of his way.

  No way.

  I grab the chair and drag it to the side of the bed, within arm’s reach of Magdalena. She could fight him and need to be restrained, I tell myself.<
br />
  I’m a liar.

  “How old are you, Magdalena?” Dr. Morrow asks while snapping on a pair of gloves.

  “Twenty-five,” she answers softly. She seems younger to me, I would have thought twenty-one.

  “Hmmm, and your last period, when was that?” He places the stethoscope to her chest.

  “I have an IUD. I don’t get my period anymore.” Her eyes dart to me but refocus on the doctor quickly. At least we can be sure she didn’t get pregnant.

  “And your last sexual encounter?” He picks up her wrist and glances at his watch.

  “A year ago,” she says and turns her face away. “Other than today,” she adds with a sour tone.

  “If you weren’t sexually active why do you have the birth control implant?” I ask, gaining a disapproving glare from Morrow.

  She turns back with a hard glare. “I had horrible periods. Lots of blood. Lots of pain. Kind of like today.” She swallows, and the fear returns to her expression. She’s stepped on that line and she’s not sure if I’m going to retaliate or not.

  “I’m going to need to examine your vaginal area, Magdalena. Please drop your knees to the side, dear.” Dr. Morrow ignores the little battle between us and leans over her. He’s blocking my view of what he’s doing, and I’m positive he’s doing it on purpose.

  He may work for our family, but that doesn’t mean he’s as big of an asshole as the rest of us. My father pays him too much to get in the way of our business with the girls he treats, but he still makes it his mission to treat the girls with a kindness I can’t.

  It’s too dangerous to give them that. They won’t have it when they leave us.

  “No tearing. That’s good.” He pats her inner thigh and smiles up at her. “I need to check your backside, too, Magdalena, all right?” He asks her like she’s allowed to deny or allow anything anymore.

  She doesn’t answer him but gives a small nod and rolls to her side. Dr. Morrow pulls her ass cheek up, spreading open the crevice where he’ll find the tight hole I violated only hours ago.

  I should look away, give her some sense of dignity, but I can’t. I need to see what I’ve done, how much damage there is. The ring of muscle is still holding tight, but there’s a tear. Even I can see it. A trickle of blood is still flowing.

  Dr. Morrow shakes his head when he touches her, and she flinches but keeps his opinion about it to himself. Smart man.

  “I don’t think you’ll need stitches here, but you will be very sore for a few days.” He releases her cheek and pats her hip, telling her he’s all finished. He pulls off his gloves and turns to me, gesturing for me to follow him away from the bed and to the other end of the room. We won’t be overheard.

  Magdalena stays on her side, pulling her knees up to her chest again. I can see her bare ass, and the bruises from the belting turning a dark purple.

  Dr. Morrow sees them too and frowns momentarily.

  “She’s fine. No permanent damage, but I wouldn’t suggest any further use of her today, maybe not tomorrow either.” He says this knowing I can’t wait that long, she can’t be given too much of a reprieve - she won’t get any in the future with her new owner. “Stay away from her ass for as long as you can. She doesn’t need to be stitched, but any further tearing could have bad results,” he warns.

  “Thanks.” I nod, not commenting on his recommendations. Better he not know what’s coming her way. Maybe he can sleep better at night that way.

  Dr. Morrow nods, gathers his things, and whispers his goodbye to Magdalena. It’s tempting to stop him and demand to know what he said, but she smiled softly after his words - so whatever it was, I’ll let her keep them to herself.

  After the doctor leaves and I rebolt the door, I walk over to the table with her dinner still on it.

  “It’s time to eat, Magdalena.”

  8

  If Kristoff thinks giving me a bath and having a doctor check me out to be sure he didn’t tear me in two, is going to make any of this better - he’s more delusional than I had him pegged.

  When I was a little girl, my mother would go in rampages over the dumbest things. She couldn’t find her keys, she tripped over one of our shoes - everyday shit that happens to everyone. But she’d rage and scream and throw things and call us horrible names, and when she calmed down, she’d apologize. Give us ice cream for dinner or let us stay up past bedtime to watch a movie with her. None of it made me feel any better. But it probably took away some of her guilt.

  Which is probably what Kristoff is doing - trying to wipe away his guilt. But that’s his problem.

  My problem is getting myself to snap out of this funk. I can’t give up. I can’t, but I’m too tired to fight him. I’m too scared of what’s coming next. I hadn’t thought he’d be capable of what he did.

  What sort of things will the next man do?

  “I’m not hungry, and it’s probably cold,” I say, still balled up on the bed. I should get under the covers, not let him see me naked - but it’s not like he can’t just rip them off me if he wants to get to my body again.

  The pills he gave me have taken the edge off the pain, but I’m still sore in places I doubt ibuprofen can fix.

  “Well, if it’s cold that’s your fault. And I don’t care if you’re hungry.” He sits on the bed, putting the tray down in front of me and taking off the lids. A bowl full of pasta and veggies and a large piece of chocolate cake greets me. My stomach growls at the sight, and my mouth waters.

  Pasta is my best friend in the world.

  He’ll just force me if I don’t eat, so I scoot up to sit and crisscross my legs. The movements make the pain in my ass and shoulder spark to life, but I keep it to myself. He’s been given enough of my pain for one day, he can’t have anymore.

  My hand is pushed away when I reach for the fork, and he grabs it.

  “I don't need you to feed me, I’ll eat,” I say, but he’s already loaded up the fork with pasta and a big chunk of tomato.

  “You don’t have a boyfriend back home? You said you haven’t had sex in a year,” he says and shovels the food into my mouth. I close my eyes at the deliciousness of the meal. Whoever made this dish, knew exactly what they were doing.

  “Would it have changed anything if I do?” I ask after I swallow.

  He pauses, gathers up some cake on the fork and brings it back to my lips. “Probably not.”

  At least he doesn’t lie to me.

  “How does a pretty girl like you not have a boyfriend or at least a few one-nighters in the past year?” he asks with a little tilt to his lips.

  “How does a man kidnap, rape, and sell women, sleep at night?” I counter the question, feeling a bit braver since he’s being civil. The monster who left my room hours earlier didn’t return, but that didn't mean he wasn't still there. Lurking beneath the surface.

  “Soundly,” he deadpans. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious, and it doesn’t matter.

  He hands me the fork and lets me scoop up more pasta.

  “Why are you investigating my father? You know how dangerous he is,” he asks me, sounding more curious than demanding.

  I shrug. “I’ve heard my sister talk about him. About what you do. I thought it would be a groundbreaking article.”

  “Sex trafficking?” he huffed a laugh. “It’s not new, this thing he does,” he says, and his accent thickens.

  “No. But - he lives right here in England. Just like a normal person, and I wanted to see it. I was just going to snap some photos of the estate - from outside. Maybe talk to a few locals that know him.” There’s no reason to be telling him this, but he’s got his feet propped up on the bed now, his hands folded behind his head. He’s never looked so casual.

  “And what about everything that happens inside?” he asks with darkened eyes.

  “I wasn’t going to try to get inside, yet.” My plans weren’t as developed as maybe he and his father think.

  “You don’t plan so much, do you? Sort of fly by the
seat of your pants through life?” There’s a lightness to his tone - one I’m not used to from him. It’s unsettling.

  I finish the cake without answering him. He doesn’t deserve an answer and I’m worn out. My lids are heavy, and my knees hurt. Pushing the tray away from me, I uncurl my legs and shimmy under the covers.

  His heavy sigh tells me he’s getting annoyed again.

  “Tomorrow is going to be rough for you,” he announces, standing up from the chair. “We start training.” He picks up the tray with the empty dessert dish and half-eaten pasta. “Get some sleep.”

  “Is training worse than what you did this afternoon?” I ask. A full stomach apparently has gotten rid of enough fear that I’m risking another beating - or worse.

  His body stiffens when I mention our last encounter. The plates dance on the tray as he grips it tighter.

  “Since you’re less experienced than I thought, you have more to learn than I thought. We’ll start discussing what experience you have as a submissive, then move onto other things.”

  My eyes widen.

  He knows.

  “Just because I didn’t fuck everything that moved in the last year doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced.” I throw at him, the irritation in me not stopping my brain from firing at him. Am I really defending my sexual life to him?

  “You’ll have your chance to show me how much experience you have tomorrow,” he says and leaves me alone once again.

  Staring up at the ceiling, I run through the events of the day, the loss of hope, the pain. Everything he’s been telling me is true.

  I have no way out of this if my sister doesn’t get to me in time. I still believe she will. She’ll know something’s wrong when I don’t call her. I call her almost daily. When she doesn’t get a text or call, she’ll try to get a hold of me. She’ll find me.

  She’s a fucking CIA agent! She’ll find me.

  It’s my only option now.

  9

  Magdalena eats her entire breakfast without any warnings from me. Her eyes are a bit brighter in the morning sunlight, but I can still see the lingering fear from yesterday.