Thirty Days of Pain

by Ginger Talbot

  I gesture at the men. They know what I want, and they all walk forward. She looks at me in bewilderment, eyes widening.

  “You were the one who spit on the food. There are cameras all throughout this house, by the way,” I tell her. “But I’m not going to waste my time going over the footage, because I can tell from the look on your face.”

  She turns a sickly white, and her mouth forms an O of shock. “Sir… I’m sorry…”

  The men are still advancing toward her. She backs up, eyes wide with terror and fury. Funny. When I see that look in her eyes, it does nothing for me. I go back to being dead Sergei, with a blizzard blowing where his heart should be.

  When I see that same look in little Pussy Willow’s eyes, it makes me hard as a fucking rock.

  “After everything her family did! After what they did to my sister!” she screams, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

  “Not my fucking problem,” I snarl at her.

  Willow gasps. “No! Wait! Because of me?”

  Oh, good. She forgot to say sir. I feel a rush of blood to my groin.

  “I’m sorry,” Willow babbles. “I shouldn’t have complained. It’s nothing. Really. Don’t hurt her because of me.”

  All my men are staring at me now, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Galina is sucking in big, gulping breaths, and black, mascara-stained tears are pouring down her face.

  I walk toward Willow, who flinches away from me on the couch. “What did you say to me?” There’s just the hint of an edge to my voice.

  She looks up at me, her eyes huge.

  “Take it out on me instead,” she whispers. “It’s my fault. I…I must have done something to upset her. Give me to the men instead.”

  She just gave me an order! I smile at her, lips curving upward in a savage smile.

  I grab her by the hair and pull her to her feet.

  Galina screams at her, face red and contorted with fury. “Fuck you!” she screams at my Weeping Willow. “Bitch! Don’t you dare feel sorry for me! I’ll fucking cut you, bitch! Whore!”

  Nobody talks to my property like that except me.

  I stalk over to her, dragging a crying, struggling Willow with me by the hair, and backhand Galina with my free hand so hard she falls over. Blood is streaming from her mouth.

  She lets out a strangled shriek. “After you’re done with her, take out the trash,” I tell Feodyr, and he nods abruptly.

  Galina gasps. She gets it now. She realizes the full horror of what’s about to happen to her.

  I hear her screams of terror as the men climb on her. Mikhail is mounting her, his cock already out of his pants. Working for me has its perks. She shrieks as he impales her with his rigid dick. Karl straddles her chest, starts jerking off on her unnaturally round plastic tits.

  “I did everything for you! For you!” she screams to me.

  No, she did everything because she’s a greedy little bitch who hoped I’d be her meal ticket.

  But she doesn’t matter. She isn’t worth thinking about.

  Now, it’s all about Willow.

  Chapter Nine

  WILLOW

  Day three…

  He drags me to his special room, fingers still tangled in my hair.

  I am crying. I know Galina was a bully, but to have her killed? Because of one little lie?

  He marches me over to the wall. He cuffs my wrists to chains that dangle down from a broad horizontal wooden bar, with my back to the wall. He walks over to a panel on the wall and presses a couple of buttons.

  “My intercom system. A little music for my men,” he says. “I want them to hear what I do to you.”

  Of course. All intimacy comes with a cost.

  He selects a small black whip from a rack on the wall and walks over to me. “This is a single-tail,” he says. “And this time, I want you to see what’s coming.”

  He snaps it, so fast I can’t see.

  But I can hear it, a microsecond before an explosion of pain on my left breast.

  It makes a terrible cracking sound each time he slashes at me, and I jump and cry out. He snaps it at me again and again. It criss-crosses over my breasts and down my stomach. Every snap is a line of fire. I can feel the entire line of heat where the whip struck, and he adds more and more of them, until I feel like someone drew lines on my flesh with a white-hot poker.

  He is breathing hard, panting, and when I glance down I see the outline of his enormous cock.

  And as he slashes, I feel that answering jolt of arousal again, building and building, until I can’t tell if I’m crying out with pain or ecstasy. I’m drowning in a red haze of lust.

  When he stops and tosses the whip aside, I am gasping just as loudly as he is. He walks over and turns the intercom off.

  Then he begins caressing me. He kisses my neck, and runs his hands lightly over the burning whip marks. My gasps melt into moans of pleasure.

  He slides his hand between my legs, stroking gently.

  “Mmmm.” I’m biting my lip to keep from crying aloud.

  “Beg for it,” he whispers to me. “Tell me how much you want it. I like it when you beg.” His breath is hot and it feathers against my ear.

  I know that this time he will give me what I’ve been craving so badly…if I just ask him nicely. He’d take me. He’d be inside me. Maybe he would soften for me, start to care a little?

  Then Galina’s horrified face flashes in front of me.

  Galina. She is dead or dying. Because of me. That means that I killed her.

  “I can’t. Sir.”

  He freezes, instantly. He takes a step back and stares at me, examining my face intently.

  He arches an eyebrow. “What’s changed?” So he can sense it. Sense my moods and feelings.

  “I am responsible for Galina’s death. Sir. It’s all that I can think about.”

  He laughs, a harsh, braying sound. Madness flashes in his eyes. It chills me to the core, and I flinch away from him.

  He undoes my cuffs, and I drop my arms and hug myself.

  “Galina sold out her father, husband and brother, who worked for a competing outfit.” His gaze bores into me relentlessly. “She came to me and told me when they’d be delivering a shipment, knowing that it would cause their deaths. Not just a quick simple death, because they had killed several of my men, and I needed to make a clear statement about my feelings on the matter. My revenge was long and drawn-out and very well deserved. She knew what I would do to them, and she sold them to the devil for money. And the reason she abused you? She was jealous. She wanted me for herself. After I’d personally flayed the flesh from her nearest and dearest.”

  I feel a wave of shock and disgust at the thought. Her own family? Is Sergei telling the truth? I somehow sense that he is. I doubt he’d bother to lie to me; he doesn’t care enough about what I think.

  “Was she telling the truth about my family doing something to her sister? Sir?”

  He ignores me. He is walking away.

  “Please, sir,” I called after him pleadingly.

  He glances back at me. “Yes.”

  I want to ask him what they did. Clearly Galina came from a criminal family. Did her sister get caught in the cross-fire of a fight? Did she die of a drug overdose?

  But Sergei vanishes through the door. He’s not even telling me what to do.

  I feel cold and alone. I quickly get dressed and go back to my room.

  Chapter Ten

  SERGEI

  I am in my bedroom now, pacing and raging, at her and at myself. I feel the blackness coming to claim me, and I fight it. I’m stronger than the blackness.

  Why did I even bother trying to justify myself to her? Why bother to tell her what Galina had done? I own her ass. I don’t have to explain my actions to her, or anyone.

  Why didn’t I take her?

  Who the fuck cares whether she begged me? Since when do I wait for permission?

  But I want her to beg me. I want her to want me, to crave it, to need me the
way I need her. I want to know that she burns for me, that she’ll die without me. I want to hear it from her sweet, soft lips.

  She’s mine. And if I don’t have her, I’m going to explode.

  The hell with this.

  I storm out, barreling down the hallway until I reach her room.

  She’s sitting on her bed, reading a book.

  She looks up at me as I advance on her, her eyes huge. Her silky hair is in her face. I want to tangle my fingers in it, to hear her mingled cry of pain and pleasure. I love it when her pink lips make that “O” as she cries out.

  “Sir. Please…do it.” It’s a whisper.

  “Do what, Pussy Willow?”

  “Take me.”

  This is better. Sweet, soft, Willow, fighting her need for me. Because she’s such a good little girl.

  “Take you?” I bray harsh laughter. “Out on a date?”

  Tears of humiliation run down her cheeks, and my dick is hard enough to cut diamonds.

  “Fuck me. Is that what you want to hear? I want you to fuck me!” She chokes back a sob.

  Triumph rushes through me. I’ve never felt so alive, so powerful. All those times I killed for revenge? It was nothing like this. Sweet little Willow…so pure and clean. I’ve stained her with my darkness, which means I’m part of her, now and forever. I’ve put dirty words in her luscious little mouth.

  “Just so you know,” I growl, “I would have done it whether you begged me or not. Now stand up.”

  She sucks in a breath.

  And I reach down and grab the neckline of her cotton dress. I rip it in half, then shove her backward onto the bed.

  I use the shreds of cotton to bind each hand to the headboard. I pause to admire her. The red slashes across her pale flash, where I’ve marked her as mine. Her perfect small white breasts, tipped with pink rosebud nipples that are swollen with desire for me. Her flat belly. Her sweet, clean sex, oozing with moisture, hungry for my cock.

  “Untie me,” she pleads. “I don’t…I don’t want it like this. I want to touch you.”

  I ignore her. I shove two fingers inside her, and I’m rough, but she’s wet.

  “Oh. Oh. Oh.” More sobs than words.

  I curve my fingers inside her and stroke the special spot on her inner wall. She sucks in a gulp of air and goes rigid, arching her back for me. I’m watching her face as I touch her, stroking and stroking, bringing her closer and closer. Her eyes are losing focus; her gasps of pleasure are driving me to the edge of madness.

  I bend down and bite her neck hard enough to make her whimper, then lick the spot. Pleasure and pain. Just the way she likes it.

  I move down to her beautiful breasts, to the tight pink rosebud nipples. I suck on them, nip at them, and she jerks beneath my mouth.

  When I slide my fingers out, she moans in protest, and her dazed eyes look at me, fearful. She’s afraid I’ll stop.

  I make myself wait, straddling her, counting down from ten – just to prove to myself that I still can.

  Then I pull a condom from my pocket and roll it onto myself.

  I slide my cock against her tight entrance and feel resistance. God, I love that. I shove into her, inch by inch, taking it slow. She’s moving toward me because she wants it so bad.

  I take my time, drawing back, then thrusting in hard until I’m buried to the hilt. My balls are slapping against her ass, and I thrust again and again.

  I feel the swelling tide of pleasure inside me, and I know it will be soon. I slow down my thrusts until I hear the gasps that tell me she’s going to come.

  Then I resume with a fury, slamming into her so hard that the bed rams against the wall, and her walls spasm and clench my cock, and she’s screaming, Oh God, yes, yes, yes, and crying at the same time…

  And I shatter into a million pieces, and explode. The hot rush of my come, the release, the ecstasy… I’m about to pull her to me, hold her in my arms, and then I realize what I’m doing and stop myself just in time.

  My cock feels so at home buried inside her tight heat, with the aftershocks of her orgasm still sending rippling shudders through her body… I carefully slide out of her and peel off the condom.

  I untie her hands and slide off the bed.

  “You’re…you’re leaving?” Her voice is tiny and weak and timid. I know she’ll hate herself for asking.

  I want to stay. I want to stroke her and kiss her, and breathe in her sweet scent. I’ve got to shut that down right now.

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I force a laugh. “Did you want to cuddle?” And I walk out.

  Behind me, I hear her quiet sobs. And I punch the wall as I walk down the hall, because her misery doesn’t turn me on the way it should. It doesn’t turn me on at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  SERGEI

  Day nine, morning…

  After I left Willow, I avoided her for five days and nights.

  I check in with Jasha every day, make sure that she’s eating the food that is sent to her.

  I hear that despite their best efforts, Lukas got away from Marya and Kris and found Willow, and she spent an hour walking around the gardens holding his hand.

  Jasha says she spends a lot of her time reading and sketching.

  Once, she ran into my man Jon in the hallway and asked if she could call Helenka and Yuri. He relayed the message to me. I ignored it.

  Other than reports from Jasha, she is a ghost to me. I don’t even watch her on the video cameras. It wouldn’t be enough.

  It’s ridiculous how much effort it’s taking for me to stay away from her. I could try to distract myself. I have plenty of women available to me; one phone call, and a gorgeous, willing submissive would be at my house within the hour, kneeling in my playroom, crying out with pleasure as I plied the whip.

  The thought makes me cold. When I jerk off, Willow’s face swims in front of me. I do not make the call.

  Having Willow in the house isn’t making me feel like I thought it would. I’ve taken revenge many times over the years, on the men and women who’ve betrayed me, on the people who destroyed my family while we were weak. And it was always satisfying. It warmed me, it thawed the frozen place inside me while I was doing it, while I watched the light fade from their eyes. And I felt warm for days afterward, and the darkness was kept at bay.

  But there is something different about Willow.

  Her pure, innocent soul, her willingness to sacrifice herself for that worthless whore Galina, the way she craves me and takes what I dish out to her and whimpers for more, no matter how I degrade her… Something about her rattles me. It makes me want things. It makes me imagine the impossible.

  She isn’t staying here, and I am not claiming her. I could do that – I could make her want me, make her love me. But that was never the plan. Taking her was part of a message I’m sending to my enemies. Treating her gently, making her mine, would be admitting weakness on a level that would be the death of who I am as a man.

  No. I will do what I planned from the beginning.

  Best-case scenario, her uncle pays me back and I don’t have to kill her. And the best-case scenario for her is still a nightmare. Because when I free her, I’ll be sending her home to a lifetime of punishment from her family, for crimes she didn’t commit.

  Mikhail and Karl are gossipy little bitches, and they’ve been telling everyone what I’m doing to her. That’s the only reason why the backstabbing traitors are here in my house – to bear witness. And because of them and their big mouths, everybody will know what I’ve done to Willow.

  When I set her free, the Toporovs will not welcome her with open arms. Her family will reject her for being sullied, tainted. She doesn’t expect that, because she would never think like that. She doesn’t judge, and she forgives and forgives and forgives.

  But she is ruined as far as they are concerned, and her uncles cannot let her go live her life, a walking testament to their shame. They will either quietly eliminate her or quickly marry her o
ff to someone who will keep her locked up behind closed doors and put baby after baby in her, until her soul shrivels and dies.

  I have destroyed yet another Toporov. She’s a dead woman walking. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  I try to draw pleasure from that thought, and fail.

  It doesn’t matter. My feelings for her don’t matter. And yes, I am forced to admit that I am developing feelings for her that go beyond simple lust. But she is only a means to an end, and there is no way to fit her into my master plan.

  That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I don’t care what happens to her after I’m done with her.

  Don’t you? a tormenting voice taunts me. Don’t you want to bruise her, then kiss those bruises and watch her cry with gratitude and relief? Don’t you want to terrify her, then gather her in your arms and comfort her? Don’t you want to claim her for yourself, and kill any man who looks at her with lust in his eyes? Make her scream your name as you come inside her?

  There is no point in lying to myself. A part of me wants that.

  So which will it be for her?

  Mercy?

  Torture?

  Revenge?

  I close my eyes. I take control of my breathing and my pulse. I slow my heartrate down.

  And I realize that I truly don’t know the answer.

  The entire day has passed by in a haze of distraction. I’m getting increasingly frustrated as I head outside to meet up with Feodyr, Jasha, Maks and Slavik. My thoughts are bouncing around like grease on a hot griddle.

  They’re sitting under the shade of an enormous canvas umbrella, at a wrought-iron table with a top made of hand-laid decorative tile mosaic. The view of the vast blue ocean, framed by palm trees, is like a travel poster. A maid hovers in the background, out of earshot but ready to leap to attention if they want anything to eat or drink. My bartender is standing at the fully stocked bar, and classical music drifts from hidden speakers. A perfumed breeze carries the scent of thousands of roses, and my gardens stretch farther than I can see.