Double Dealing: A Menage Romance

by Landish, Lauren

  Instead, I was proud of it. The idea that my service pleased her lent strength to my legs and steel to my spine as I stood there in my bare feet, my toes going numb but still not moving. I kept my eyes straight ahead, only turning to nod or greet those who went by and spoke to me in either English or French. Even those who said good morning in Ukrainian were still given a nod and a polite smile — they were at least trying. Those who smirked or looked at me derisively I just dismissed from view, they weren't worth my attention. After all, it wasn't my fault they couldn't understand.

  Finally, when the clock just visible at the end of the hallway said it was fifteen minutes after seven, I heard the sound that sent tingles down my spine and caused my heart to beat faster. She came to her door and opened it, stepping into the hallway and looking so beautiful I wanted to weep in adoration. Her platinum blond hair tumbled down her shoulders and her back like a halo, and her eyes sparkled with divine beauty and kindness. “Good morning, my pet.”

  “Good morning, Mistress,” I greeted her, trying not to let my cock grow hard. It wasn't that she didn't know I thought her beautiful beyond compare, but instead she wanted me to learn how to control myself. Giving in to the beastly passions that coursed through my body was intolerable. It had been the hardest lesson I was to master, and one I struggled with constantly.

  I was only partially successful this time, as my cock did twitch and swell, but not overly so. She noticed, and gave me the reward of a smile. “Very good. Your efforts are improving.”

  “Thank you. I apologize again about yesterday, and thank you for the generosity of sleeping here last night,” I said, meaning every word. “How may I serve you today?”

  “First, you need to wash and prepare yourself for the day,” She said. “We will add to your training, starting today. So, I want you to go to the kitchen and ask Maria for your morning breakfast drink, then after you have that, start your morning exercises. Shower, change into a fresh set of clothing, and meet me in the solarium by ten o'clock.”

  “Yes Mistress,” I replied, straightening up as tall as I could. I turned to go and obey, when her chuckle stopped me. I turned back, questioning. “Is there something else?”

  Her smile grew and she turned her cheek to me, pointing. “You did well. You may have a reward. Go ahead.”

  I trembled as I leaned down to kiss her perfect alabaster cheek, my nose inhaling every bit of her scent and thrilling me all the way to my core. I wanted to linger, to taste and to feel more, but resisted, knowing I wasn't worthy yet. Instead, I pulled back, unable to stop the soft whimper that escaped my lips when she brought her hand up and cupped my face. “You have learned so well, so fast,” she said. “You make being a good trainer both very easy and very difficult. Now go, and if you obey well today, I may let you sleep in my bedroom tonight. The carpet is softer than this marble tile.”

  I turned and walked quickly down the hall, Mistress' words adding spring to my step as I made my way to the kitchen. Maria, the morning staff cook, was already at her duties, mixing a large bowl of what I assumed would become porridge, as well as slicing Russian style kolbasa sausage. Many of the staff at the house are men, which means large appetites that include lots of protein. This was not a household for muesli or vegetables at the breakfast table. “Good morning, Maria.”

  “Ah, good morning Spartak,” Maria greeted me, using the Russian name that I’d been given. My former names were fading into the haze that was my life before. I could still remember them, Felix and Gudada, although I did not quite remember why I had two first names. Not that it mattered, of course. All that mattered was serving Mistress. “And how is Mistress Svetlana this morning?”

  “She’s well,” I said, unable to hide my blush. “She has asked that I come down and have my breakfast before my morning exercises.”

  “Of course. I had it prepared twenty minutes ago, so I put it in the icebox,” she said. Maria was one of the few members of the house who spoke good English, although she tended to use the British variety instead of the American that I was familiar with. “It has probably separated some. Would you like me to blend it up again?”

  “That would be nice. Thank you,” I said. “Can I stir your porridge while you do that? I know the staff wouldn’t appreciate lumps.”

  Maria smiled and nodded, handing me the large wooden paddle-like spoon that she used to stir the ten liter sized pot. Thankfully, Maria was quick, and brought me my cup. “Here you are. By the way, I upped the caloric content. Svetlana said that you lacked energy right before lunch. Three scoops today, and I used full fat milk instead of skim.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking it and stepping back. “May I drink it here?”

  Maria laughed and nodded. “Spartak, the only person you have to ask permission to do anything around here is from the Mistress. In case you haven't figured it out yet, being her pet is quite a high position. Serve her well, and I will be calling you sir before you know it.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “I would allow that, Maria. I only wish to serve her as best I can.”

  Maria sighed and took the pot of porridge off of the heat, replacing it with a large cast-iron griddle that she arranged her slices of kolbasa on. As I started to drink, the fat from the sausage melted and began to sputter and crackle underneath the sausage, adding a festive spark to our conversation and a delicious smell to the air. “Spartak, you are an intelligent man, despite what others think of you. And yes, I’m aware that you know what they say, for the most part. You understand more of the Ukrainian than many others realize, and you've applied yourself with equal fervor to learning what’s asked of you. For this I congratulate you, but I also ask that, once you are familiar with your duties with her, that you strive to expand your topics of conversation with me beyond that of the Mistress. I know you and her discuss other things. I overheard you two talking in, what was it, French, the other day?”

  “Yes, I speak French,” I said, taking a deep drink of my shake. I could taste the extra thickness that the third scoop of protein powder and the full fat milk added. I was to be in perfect health, so instead of the normal porridge and fatty sausage, I ate like an Olympic athlete, with foods prepared for me by the kitchen staff. My breakfast shake was made with the finest imported protein powder and high-quality organic milk, along with flavorings, vitamins, and other ingredients that Maria hadn't told me. “What else would you like to talk about?”

  “We will see what happens,” Maria said with a chuckle. She flipped the first dozen kolbasa patties, then waved with her spatula. “But if you want to know, I like ice skating.”

  As I finished my shake, I reflected on the strange position I held. Some of the staff envied my luxuries, such as the better clothing I was given and the finer foods. In fact, I would eat lunch and dinner with Mistress if she wished, and not in the staff kitchen. But what they didn't understand was that with great luxury came great expectation and the weight of living up to the faith and the investment that was placed in me. I had to earn not only Mistress' trust, but all that she had given me as well.

  I finished my morning meal with a long drink and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. “Thank you, Maria. I'll be back by nine thirty to eat my second meal. Until then, I must get on with my preparations. And I will think about the ice skating.”

  “Of course. I will see you later. Enjoy your training, Spartak.”

  I left the kitchen and went out to my container, even though I didn't like the place. It was a converted cargo container after all, but it did have the few items that I'd been allowed to call my own, including my exercise clothes. Stripping down, I shivered in the sub-freezing temperature, but accepted it. Mistress told me that the cold helped me stay lean, and it increased my testosterone production, which she valued. As such, I wore nothing but a form-fitting tank top and compression leggings along with my running shoes as I started off on the morning run.

  First, a two-kilometer jog to warm up my body before reaching the river bank, wh
ich dipped sharply for nearly fifty meters to the water. Walking down to where the toes of my shoes touched the river, I turned, sprinting up the twenty-degree incline as hard as I could until I reached the top before walking back down and repeating the process again and again. After the last one, my heart was pounding in my chest and my mouth tasted of electric spit, but I pushed myself to run as hard as I could back to the house, stripping off my shoes when I got inside as I was instructed, and going to the house's fitness center where I found another pair of shoes and socks inside my bag which had been hung on a hook on the wall. Quickly changing, I followed my program for the day which had been written out on the bulletin board for me, leaving my upper body as exhausted as my lower. I glanced at the clock and pushed myself, cursing my laziness during my sprints as I only had seven minutes now to shower and bathe myself before having to see Maria in the kitchen again.

  Jumping in the shower, I couldn't help but shiver as the cold water splashed against my upper back and down my body. Working quickly, I lathered my face with the provided soap before shaving, using precious minutes to make sure I didn't nick or cut myself in any way.

  With one minute and fifteen seconds minutes to spare, I got out of the shower and dried myself off, wishing I had a few seconds to enjoy the rich Egyptian cotton of the towel. Instead, I quickly changed into the briefs and pants that had been laid out for me before applying the cologne that Mistress wanted me to wear, then pulled on my undershirt. I could wait on putting on the rest of my clothing until after my second meal.

  I got to the kitchen again just as Maria set my second meal on the staff table. She glanced at the clock and tutted, shaking her head reprovingly. “You are pushing your time, Spartak. It’s nine thirty three. Can you make it in time?”

  I nodded, sitting down and setting my other items over the back of the chair next to me. “Mistress wants me in twenty-seven minutes. I can finish this in ten, and still have time to finish my morning preparations.”

  “You are going to eat a three-hundred-gram steak and the sides in less than ten minutes, and still be ready to put the rest of your suit on? I have to watch this.” Maria wiped her hands on the dishtowel that was hanging off her apron strings and sat down at the table across from me.

  I got to work, not taking the time to savor each bite as I began chewing mechanically, cutting and forking the next bite even as I swallowed the one before it. I wished that Maria had prepared ground meat for me instead of a steak, it would have been easier, but was content. “This is good.”

  “Thank you, I rarely get a chance to cook evening-type meals,” she said with a chuckle. “Although if your time schedule is going to become this compacted, I may switch to making you those American style scrambled eggs with cheese that you like.”

  “If that is easier, go ahead,” I said, sticking another bite of steak in my mouth. My stomach was clenching, not wanting so much food after such a hard workout, and my calves trembled underneath the table inside my suit pants, but I didn't stop. At that moment, eating was my job, and I was going to do my job to the best of my ability.

  The last bite from the plate went into my mouth at eight minutes and forty-three seconds by the clock behind Maria, and I now had exactly nine minutes to finish preparing. Wiping my mouth on the napkin, I stood up. “Thank you Maria. You are a talented chef.”

  I pulled on the shirt and silk tie that Mistress had ordered laid out for me, tying it in the full Windsor that she said she preferred. I checked my tie length against my belt and then the knot itself, snugging it under my chin and making sure the collar tips laid down perfectly before grabbing the jacket. It wasn't Italian, my build was too broad for that narrow of a cut, but it was still a very nice suit, imported from London according to Mistress when she first had me wear it for her. I did the top button on the jacket and turned to Maria, who had gone back to her duties. “How do I look?”

  “Do you really want me to answer?” she said with a little laugh. “Because you look good enough that I want to drag you away and do things to you now. So get going before I lose my job.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Thanks, Maria. I'll see you tomorrow.”

  Leaving the kitchen, I hurried, the heels of my shoes clicking over the marble tiles as I made my way to the solarium. I noted to myself that the clock on the wall read nine fifty-nine as I came to the door, seeing that it was empty. I went inside and assumed the position I was to take before receiving instruction, my hands behind my back and my eyes cast to the floor, with my feet exactly shoulder width apart in the middle of the floor, touching nothing.

  There I waited until I heard the sound that I longed to hear, the distinctive click-clack of Mistress' high heels on the hallway tile. While the outdoor turf was often too soft and muddy for her to indulge in such footwear, especially in winter, she loved the feeling of height that the stilettos gave her, and they made her legs look so good that even the sound of her walking was pure sexual energy. The door to the solarium opened again, and I smiled, still not lifting my head. “Did you have a good exercise session?”

  “I did,” I replied, keeping my eyes downcast. I was to receive instruction, and would not move unless she told me to.

  “Good. Tell me, are you happy this morning?”

  “I’m very happy to be here with you this morning.”

  I meant every word.

  Chapter 34

  Francois

  The day should have been wonderful. I was back in Paris with Charani, Syeira, and, of course, my soon to be wife, Jordan. We’d come back to handle the passing over of some of the bank accounts to my signature, but of course I was mostly happy to be back in the City of Lights. Our home in Albania is one thing, and we would go there soon, but Paris . . . Paris is special.

  I should have been happy, but instead, I was put off. There was something in the way that Jordan and Syeira were acting that concerned me. It had started a week before, but now that we were in Paris, it seemed stronger than ever.

  It started with just the occasional look, a look in Jordan's eyes as we would talk, or when I would come home after doing work for my new position as King of our tribe. It was a look I'd never seen before, one of questioning me. It was different than any other expression she'd given me before. When Felix and I had first kidnapped her, she had looked on me with wariness, but not outright distrust. Then, later on, she looked at me with eyes filled with desire, then love. When Felix had 'died,' her eyes were filled with sadness. But now . . . now she didn't trust me, even though she loved me. And I didn't know why.

  These thoughts whirled through my mind as I sat in the offices of La Banque Postale, waiting for the accounts manager to come back from his verifications. I was dressed in my finest suit, my hair slicked back and styled in the latest French fashion, a day's worth of stubble on my face. All in all, I looked like a successful French businessman and not a Romani thief. The fools.

  The account manager came back, holding in his hand the thick envelope I'd been hoping for. “Monsieur Hardy, thank you for waiting,” he said to me in French as he sat down. “I apologize for taking so long.”

  “It is not a problem,” I said, waving it off. “I understand that this sort of situation doesn’t arise very often.”

  “To say the least,” the accounts manager said. “However, your forms are correct, and we have added you to all the accounts you requested. Please note, this does not take your brother off of the accounts, but merely adds you as a signatory, so if either of you wish for the accounts to be closed, or to take out a loan against the account, you must have both signatures. Also, please, next time you speak to your brother, remind him that before he goes on a year long sabbatical in Indonesia, to come to the bank and get the accounts handed over properly first.”

  “Of course, although from what I understand it'll be a month before he gets my next letter,” I said with a chuckle. “In the meantime, will I be able to access the accounts online and such?”

  “Of course, Monsieur. We ca
n set up your own profile and password right now, in fact.”

  I nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

  After I left the bank, I decided to walk back to the barge instead of taking a taxi or the bus. Strolling along, I tried to think of what could’ve caused Jordan to stop trusting me. It couldn’t just be intuition. I don’t know if it was guilt getting the better of me, but it seemed like she knew that I sold Felix out.

  Maybe I said something in my sleep? I knew I tended to mumble when I slept, it was a bad habit that had caused Felix and I to have separate bedrooms when we were children after he’d complained for three nights in a row after we'd stayed up late to watch Dawn of the Dead together. Even Charani said that I would often talk out loud, in a voice loud enough that it sounded like I was holding a normal conversation.

  I wasn't sure, but it racked my mind as I walked. Of course, Syeira being suspicious of me was something that I could have expected. After all, I walked away unscathed while her son had supposedly perished. Looking back, I should have at least given myself some superficial cuts or something to show that I'd been hit by something, but I thought my story of ducking bullets had been enough. I wasn't going to shoot myself in the arm just for a cover story. Still, I winced as my shirt rubbed over the still tender flesh of the scars on my back, and chuckled. Perhaps not totally unscathed, but the fresh X-shaped scars proved who I was now.

  Finding a little cafe, I took a seat, careful in leaning back. My scars were tender, but once I found a stable position, they tended not to pain me too much. I'd be able to go back to exercising soon, which I hoped for. Of course, in the week after the memorial service, Jordan and I made love many times, which is a workout in and of itself, but I wanted to get back into real shape to prove to myself and to the whole world that just because one of the Hardy brothers was now no longer around, the world's antiquities and fine art still wasn’t safe. It was a given that the target would be easier and less ambitious than the Quran that had been Felix's downfall, but there had to be something that would attract the right sorts of attention. Now was my time to shine.