by Jaden Wilkes
She felt his finger touch her face, stroke her chin and pull her face towards him. She blinked under the blindfold and tried to see him through the gash of light at the bottom. She heard him make a small noise, as if pondering her accusation. He finally said, “No, not at all. I am afraid you have mistaken my intent. You belong to me now; in the end you will find your freedom through this ownership. In losing the ability to make your own decisions, in knowing that every single day that I choose to let you live might possibly be your last...in giving yourself to me completely, you will be free to heal yourself and see yourself whole. I am going to take the broken parts of you and mend them back together. I will do this for you if you give yourself to me.”
She hated to admit it, but there was something appealing about his statement. Ever since her mom had moved them in with her father, she had been completely shattered. The only thing that kept her going was her desire to protect her little sister. Eden had been born a year after her father had followed Columbia that day she walked to her Nan’s. He had picked her up in his work truck on the guise of saving a lonely little girl, protecting her. He’d driven her to her Nan’s place and everyone had lauded his brave intervention, putting himself at risk to assist another person’s child. How could they have known how black his heart was? He didn’t start coming to Columbia’s room until after they were moved into his house and her mom was huge with Eden.
It was then that she understood fairy tales have no happy endings. They stop the story and start the music right after the happiest part of a character’s life because the rest of the story is always tragic. The saviour becomes a Wolf; the princess becomes a distant woman ground down to nothing by the constant abuse at home. And the daughter becomes the guardian, a position thrust upon her when she was too young, too confused to understand what it meant. Putting herself in the line of fire on a daily basis so Eden could grow up into everything that Columbia had wanted to be. Columbia understood the nature of this sacrifice far too late; she wore it on her body permanently now. She didn't think Eden would ever understand.
So her captor’s proposal was appealing to the part of her that kept moving ahead even though she wanted to stop. The part of her that felt like a shark, always pushing forwards or drowning in the place you live. She heard him make another small noise, one of query, waiting for her response. His hand was still on her, but he’d settled the palm and fingers on her throat while he thumb caressed her jaw line. The steady, persistent pressure reminded her of how he’d stroked her clit, brought her close to orgasm and almost forced her to be present while she came. It also reminded her of how easily he had snapped, how quickly he went from pleasuring her body to choking the life out of her. He was a dangerous man, and she should not forget it, no matter how soft he seemed at times like this.
“At least let me see you,” she said after a few beats of her heart. “I need to know who you are before I make my decision.”
“That isn’t necessary,” he replied. “This is not your decision to make.”
“Maybe I don’t want to stay,” she said. “Maybe I have decided I want to go home.”
“I repeat, this is not your choice,” he said. “My appearance has no bearing on whether or not you stay.”
“How will I know if I am ever going to give myself to you if I can’t see what you look like?” she insisted. “How can I ever give myself to somebody if he looks like a Wolf? Like the monster in the woods?”
“Do you really want to see me?” he growled. “Are you so certain you want to look at the beast? To fulfill some kind of sick curiosity maybe? Fill your heart with horror and your mouth with unspoken laughter?”
“I’ve already seen you,” she confessed, fear flooding back into her body. Her instincts kicked in and she was reminded that she was in the presence of a powerful man.
“In the mirror, I thought you had,” he replied. She could hear his anger starting to boil under the surface.
“I did,” she said.
“Then let’s accommodate your curiosity,” he snarled and stood up quickly. The chair fell behind him and hit the floor with a crash. He reached down and pulled her up by her hands. She gasped and let herself go limp, as she had many times with her father.
“Is this what you want?” he asked close to her ear.
She nodded and did not speak. She was unable to speak, her heart was pounding in her chest and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.
He pulled the bindings off her wrists with expert precision, and she let her hands fall to her sides. He yanked her to standing and she felt him grip her shoulders and take a deep breath. She thought she detected the smallest quiver in his exhalation as he reached up to grab the blindfold.
He hesitated again, for a moment. She said nothing, did nothing. She wanted this to be on his terms and she was too filled with waves of adrenaline to react.
He yanked the blindfold away and stared down at her, waiting.
She looked up and saw a mass of muscle and tattoos, those beautiful bright blue eyes and the face of a handsome man. Half of it was at least. The other half of him had fine puckered scars, down one side. It didn’t mar his attractiveness, nothing could do that, but they were obvious. She let her gaze fall back down. He was dressed in simple and yet elegant attire. Not the clothing of a mobster she thought, but more like an athlete, a boxer. He had a tight black tee shirt and loose fitting track pants. He was barefoot and had surprisingly nice feet. The weird things you notice when your life is on the line. His arms bulged with lean muscle and she could see the thick thighs under the fabric of his pants. He really could tear her apart with his bare hands if he wanted. She licked her lips, a subconscious gesture betraying the thrill she felt at the thought of the strength that must course through his body.
"Look at me, really look at me," he commanded, staring intently waiting for her reaction.
She slowly lifted her head and to look at his face again. She returned his gaze, unflinching, and offered a small, quick smile. “You aren’t so bad,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from her fear, “not the monster I imagined.” He narrowed his eyes and watched her face, as though looking for a sign that she was lying or mocking him.
“I used to be a handsome man,” he said, running his hand over the puckered flesh of his left cheek. He continued and ran his hand over his short hair. It was growing in very dark. A striking contrast to his bright blue eyes.
“That’s one area we disagree,” she replied, still holding his gaze, “I think you still are.”
“Then you are a very stupid woman,” he said, his mouth set in a thin line, “or a very good liar.”
“Maybe I’m a little bit of both,” she answered and smiled up at him, willing him to smile back.
Chapter Thirteen - Dimitri
She wanted to see his face. He was filled with revulsion at the thought of exposing himself to her, but he felt it was now or some other time. If he was going to take her with him to Hong Kong, she was going to see his face eventually. He felt like a shy teenager all of a sudden. He was gripped with the same nervous anxiety he had the first time he’d been with a woman. Some whore Sergei had bought him when he was fourteen, to break him in and make him a man. Sergei had no idea that this was not the first time Dimitri had been fucked, but it was the first time it was with a woman. In order to survive, Dimitri had resorted to dark things; things that filled him with shame even to this day. Sometimes it felt like he would never escape the darkness that had engulfed him so early in his life.
He hated that this little girl unsettled him in such a fashion. It truly did not matter if she approved of his appearance, she was his to keep. In some small way, he wanted her to find him attractive though. The old Dimitri, the one who could have nuns swooning with a crooked smile and hooded glance in their direction, still wanted that approval. It was difficult, to go from physical perfection to something that resided in people’s nightmares.
He had been pulled back in by her pleading voice, and had lis
tened to her fairy tale just to keep her talking. He found the dusky, low tones intoxicating and the way her full lips formed the words made him regret his choice to remove his fingers from her cunt. He should have climbed on top of her and fucked her instead of trying to kill her. It would have had very different results, now she was wary and uncertain and he was unfulfilled and anxious. Fucking, in this case, would have been highly preferable to killing. Instead they were back at this impasse, this dark area between life and death.
After her tale of a Wolf devouring a little girl, he felt the stifling weight of her expectations. She wanted something from him, but he didn’t know what. He wanted out of the room before he did something dangerous, he could feel the madness rising again and needed to escape this delicate little thing and her foolish demands.
But she wanted to see his face. So he complied. He tore the blindfold from her eyes and waited for it. Waited for her gasp of fear, for her to recoil out of disgust...for anything other than what she gave him.
She gave him acceptance. In her eyes he could see how little his burns meant to her. For she was covered in scars that she was forced to confront every day, his might not seem that big to her. Perhaps it was a matter of perspective. For a moment again he felt like a stuttering schoolboy praying his prom date wouldn’t laugh at his oversized suit and plastic lapel flower. He said “I was once a handsome man,” in a voice full of anxious need for acceptance.
And she gave it. She said the right things and she reacted the right way, and for a moment...just a moment...he thought she might be serious.
Reality hit him like a boot to the face and he read the horror in her eyes, in his own face reflected there. She couldn’t hide his face from the mirrors of her eyes. Her eyes were stunning; light green and rimmed with blue. Her milky white skin and black, thick hair only enhanced the beauty of her eyes.
The eyes that stared at him, judged him, and found him lacking. Then lied about it. She fucking dared to lie about finding him attractive, as though he was just a stupid little boy looking for a pat on the head.
Rage filled his mouth and he clenched his fists, preparing to strike her. She caught his change in body language and stepped back, allowing her fear to shine through in bright pinpoints of light in her eyes. He saw himself reflected again, towering over her and no better than the Wolf who crept into her bedroom at night and devoured her.
He knew on some level this rage was not logical, but at the surface there was an anger that could not be contained.
“Who do you think you are?” he roared at her. “Do you think you can mock me? Like some cockless fucking school boy you parade around on a leash, teasing him with your pussy...you fucking whore!”
She cringed in front of him, cowering and surprised and yelled, “No, what are you talking about? I’m not lying! I do think you’re attractive! How can you not see that?”
“Do you think you can wiggle your tits in my face and have me on my knees?” he raged on, “I am Dimitri Sokolov, The Enforcer...The Beast. I will not be torn down by some simpering little girl hiding behind her politics and her pretty face.”
Her eyes were downcast and her hands fluttered nervously in front of her body. She clearly had no idea what to expect and was unable to act accordingly because of it. He himself didn’t even know at this point what would set him off, how could she?
He reached down and took a handful of her hair. She gasped and tried to keep up as he dragged her with him to the St. Andrews cross in the middle of the room, a wooden X shaped device the concierge would bind his whores to. He would lash her to it and teach her a lesson, show her not to mock him. She was sobbing now, small mewling noises that only served to infuriate him on a primal level.
“Don’t cry,” he said, “It only makes me angry.” He took her arms and pulled them above her, then tied her to the cross. “I don’t want to be angry, so let’s get something straight here, ok?”
“Yes,” she whispered and did her best to maintain eye contact. She looked uncomfortable and shifted her weight from one foot to the next. Her arms were bound with the same white silk rope he had used on the platform; they lay against her flesh with poignant beauty. He admired the aesthetic of them as much as the pragmatic.
“I am going to do what I want with you, now that you have seen me and you know my name, I can never let you go,” he said. “I will be moving out of the country in a little over a week. It has occurred to me that it is going to be some time before I am able to bring a whore to play with. Moving is such a difficult time.”
She looked stricken, she knew exactly where this was going but Dimitri kept talking while she nodded slowly. “I am going to take you with me, but you will be more than my pet. You will be my willing companion.”
She swallowed hard and looked like she was choosing her words carefully. She finally said, “I can’t go. My family is here.”
“The Wolf? Why would you want to go back to him?” he asked with one brow raised. “Not that it matters, I am not offering this to you, I am telling you what is going to happen. Do you understand?”
She nodded and her chin quivered. She was obviously fighting tears and Dimitri felt his compassion shut down. He hated tears, from his mother’s pleading cries as his father beat her, to manipulative women he’d encountered in his years working for Sergei. Tears made Dimitri emotionally withdraw and his anger surface.
“I said don’t cry,” he warned her. “Be still and I will go over the rules. First and foremost, you are now my possession. I own you. You are only alive because it pleases me, but this could change if you try my patience. When I ask you a direct question, you are only to answer yes or no. This is a hard and fast rule; I do not want to hear excuses or babbling whining when you answer me. Do you understand?”
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes and said,” Yes.” She straightened her back and appeared defiant. This pleased Dimitri; if she was fighting him then she wouldn’t be crying. If she showed a backbone, he knew she was directing her anger towards him instead of herself.
“You will no longer cut yourself. I will not let you damage my property,” he said. “Do you understand?”
She looked startled, as though it was not a subject to be discussed in polite company. This, however, was not polite company, so she replied, “Yes,” and let him continue.
“I will collar you. This means a physical indicator that I own you,” he said and considered his statement, looking her up and down. “I do like the feel of my hand around your neck though, so you will wear wrist cuffs. These will serve to remind you that you belong to me and make it easier for me to restrain you when you need it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said and held her tongue. He suspected she wanted to keep talking, to explain or bargain, but she was playing along with his rules for the time being at least. He hoped this wasn’t a permanent situation; he loved it when she struggled.
“Excellent, little dove,” he told her, very pleased with her. “You will be a quick study.” She looked up at him from under impossibly thick lashes, her eyes wet with the remaining tears she had cried, and her lower lip quivered.
He was terrifying her, and he loved it. “You will never speak to another member of my staff,” he said, “Not even the closest member, the concierge. You will meet him very soon, but unless he speaks to you directly, you will not interact with him.”
She looked up at him and stared him down. He hadn’t asked if she understood, so she did not reply. He couldn’t help himself; he smiled at her. She was simply gorgeous in her defiance. She really was going to make this an exceptional experience.
“For now, you will have your own room and your own clothing allowance. I will let you order online and have things shipped. You are not to leave my apartment and you are never to have contact with the outside world, by any means. Do you understand?”
She narrowed her eyes and stared him down, unblinking. Finally she closed her eyes slowly, opened them and hissed, “Yes,” at him.
/>
“Then let us begin,” he replied and walked to a tall armoire in the corner of the room. He opened it and saw his collection of riding crops, leather ties, floggers and assorted pain-producing paraphernalia. He was old fashioned, he supposed. He was a gentleman and preferred hands on administration of pain and pleasure. He never really got caught up in newer fads, like wireless vibrators or electro-shock punishments. He liked to feel the body under his hands, feel his plaything respond to his ministrations. He enjoyed the quiver of fear, the tremble of pleasure.
He wanted to start simply with Columbia. He reached out and stroked a long whip with a wicked metal hook on the end. This might be too much, so he settled on a riding crop. It was longer than the one he had been using previously, an elegant device used for dressage competitions. It had a carved ivory handle with a large bulb on the end, the other side was braided leather, stiff and thin and extremely painful if applied with force.
He went back to where she was standing patiently, her hand stretched over her head and her face expressionless. She watched his every move with wide eyes, he could see her chest rise and fall with her rapid breathing. Anticipation oozed from her pores, he could almost smell it on her skin. The air felt thick with it, his own plotting adding to the tension.
He did not speak; he stopped in front of her and smacked the palm of his hand with the whip. She jumped and her eyes widened visibly, but she narrowed them again immediately.
“Are you ready to beg for my cock?” he asked her in a bemused voice. He was enjoying this game more than expected.
She didn’t reply, just looked him in the eye and stared him down.
“I’ll give you another chance,” he said, “are you ready to ask me for it?”
