by Henry, Jane
I bite her lip before I sweep her mouth with my tongue and she buckles beneath me. I breathe her in and exhale out, like she’s what will cleanse me of my fury. I pull my mouth off hers just long enough to whisper in her ear, “It’s time you pay your fucking dues. Your time clock starts now.”
I release her hair and shove her to her knees. She lets out a little gasp, then schools her features and purses her lips.
“You ready to pay off that debt?” I ask her, my hands at my waist while she kneels before me.
Her eyes meet mine, angry and bold. Good. It’ll make exacting her punishment easier than if she were compliant. My little kitten with sharp teeth and harmless claws.
“Ready,” she says, giving me a wicked, mirthless smile that makes me think for one brief moment that her time in the institution maybe was not in vain. “I’ve been ready for a while now, sir. The question is, are you?”
She’s too brazen, too bold. The small punishment she received last night hasn’t shown her, her true place.
“Remove your top,” I order, unzipping my pants. She wears a soft blue top so low-cut in the front, she merely has to push the sleeves down. It slithers down her body and pools around her waist. I eye her full breasts, pushed up by a delicate pink lace bra.
“Off with the bra.”
She quickly unfastens that, looking a little on edge this time when I unbuckle my belt. But instead of lashing her pretty ass with the leather as she likely suspects, I form a loop and slide it around her neck. That gets her attention. Her back ramrod straight, her eyes go round. I fasten the belt so it forms a sort of noose.
“Earn your wages, little kitten,” I order, giving the belt a tug. If she does anything out of the ordinary, anything risky, a simple tug to the end will tighten the noose. But she doesn’t. Her eyes meeting mine for the challenge, she doesn’t balk or flinch but takes my cock between her pretty, full lips, her mouth so hot and warm I groan out loud.
She sucks curiously at first, rolling her tongue along my shaft with exploratory lips and sucks. My cock swells in her mouth, and I wonder how experienced she is. Though at first she sucks me tentatively, likely subdued with my belt around her neck, she soon finds her rhythm. Questioningly, her hand comes to my cock and pumps while she sucks. I thrust into her mouth, making her eyes water.
I want to disarm her, take control, but every thrust makes her groan, and I realize her nipples are pebbled above the bunched fabric of her top. I want to control her, to punish her, but I like that she’s enjoying this, sucking my cock like I gave her a fucking lollipop. I reach down and tweak one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, and her eyes close while she releases a soft moan. I take her second nipple in hand and work the hardened nubs as she teases and sucks. I need this release. I need her submitting to me like this. The harder I pump the better she sucks, with renewed vigor and eagerness. I’m building toward release while she groans. With a steady tug, I tighten my belt around her neck. Her cheeks and chest flush pink and she sucks harder.
“Fucking gorgeous,” I groan. “My little kitten sucks cock. This will count amply toward your debt, little kisa.” My voice is husky with arousal. I freeze, getting harder, ready to come, but something tells me she’d suck me down with glee. Not this time. Instead, I pull my cock out just before I hit climax and come all over her pretty bare breasts. Her mouth parts, her eyes half-lidded. We’re both panting, and even though I hide it, I’m a little stunned with the intensity of what we just did. What she just did.
I kneel on one knee before her and yank her hair back, parting her lips and taking her mouth with mine. I taste my salty essence on her lips, her eager, sweet tongue, as I loosen the belt from around her neck.
A slim ring of pink frames her neck. My come drips between her breasts.
This girl is all mine.
I send her to clean herself up, showing disinterest as a matter of principle. The people who I summoned will be here momentarily, and I want her prepared. She nods her head and goes to the shower while I pick up my phone.
“Any word?” I ask Maksym. He’s been scouting all of Moscow for any sign of the Thieves who didn’t go to America but stayed. They’re nowhere to be found. But in my line of work, you learn to trust your instinct. My instinct says that the Thieves are behind this.
I hear the water shut off in the shower and go to see Calina. I’m sitting in a chair in my room with the door open between us when she comes out.
“Dress in here,” I tell her. “Where I can watch you.”
A brief hesitation before she nods, gathers her lips between her teeth, and walks my way again.
“Yes, sir.”
Does sex subdue my little kitten? Time will tell.
The doctor arrives and does his inspection, and to my surprise confirms that Calina has been on prescription birth control with regularity.
“Was she sexually active?” I ask him.
“A question you’ll have to ask her,” he says. “She claims it was for regularity.”
I will ask her. I want to know how soon I can fuck my little slave girl. With expedited testing, I’ll have the results soon.
“We need to talk about my expectations for you for tomorrow,” I tell her. I crook a finger at her. “Come here and sit on my knee, Calina.”
“It’s time for lunch,” I tell her, tapping out a message on my phone. “And I wish for you to come here and discuss tomorrow with me naked.”
She obediently undresses, then perches on my knee. I draw her closer to me, so that her back is flush against my chest, but she doesn’t settle.
“Food will arrive shortly, and you will allow me to feed you,” I tell her. “But first, a few questions. You were on birth control. Why? Did you have a lover?”
Merely stating the question makes my fists clench.
“No,” she says, staring at me boldly without a hint of a lie. It was for medicinal purposes.”
“Very convenient,” I say, and a shadow crosses her features. I will still wait for test results. I change the subject.
“You behaved well today, though you only had a brief visit in front of my brothers. This evening, I will take you to dinner and you will show me how well you can behave. If you behave in the presence of others, remember, you will not be punished when we return.”
I watch her nod, and I wonder what’s going on in that mind of hers.
“And… if I misbehave, you punish me.”
I nod. She knows this. Then why does she ask? I watch her reaction closely while I push her against my chest and gently, so gently, stroke the underside of her breast. I breathe in her ear. “Yes, little kitten. Punish you.”
“How, sir?” she asks, with barely contained curiosity and less trepidation than I’d wish.
“Stand, Calina,” I say, pushing her off my lap and taking her hand, tugging her to my closet. I open the closet door, displaying what I have hanging on wooden pegs for my use. I watch her eyes go wide with… something. It isn’t horror, but something more complex.
Morbid curiosity, perhaps?
“Do you know what these things are?” I ask, drawing her to me and caressing the underside of her breast once more. With my free hand, I run the back of my hand down the gleaming metal of a pair of spreader bars.
Her gaze flickers to my hand at her breast, then the bars on the wall. She shakes her head, but I’m not so sure she’s as ignorant as she lets on.
I point to a stout leather strap and a thick wooden paddle, and in the darker recesses of the closet, the small curved Sybian, a device meant to ring orgasm after orgasm out of her body. Pleasure that lingers on the edge of punishment if I wish. Metal rings and chains, as well as an array of bondage equipment.
A part of me hopes she disobeys tonight. That she gives me a reason to punish her.
I don’t need a reason, but I’m a man of my word, and I’ve promised punishment if she misbehaves.
“I don’t, sir.”
I lead her out of the closet and shut the door
behind me. “Then behave yourself, and you’ll have no reason to find out.”
“I see,” she says quietly. “And what will this evening consist of?”
“You will sit by me and be fed by me,” I tell her. “You will bow your head in respect and call me sir. You talk to no one else. You make eye contact with no one else. I’m the sole focus of your attention. Am I clear?”
She nods, but doesn’t speak. I reach down and tweak one of her nipples so hard her back arches. “How do you respond?” I remind her.
“Yes, sir!” she gasps, tears watering her eyes.
“Better,” I tell her, still holding her by the nipple but softer now, caressing the punished, tender flesh.
“Tell me about your experiences with other men,” I tell her, still stroking her nipple.
“I’m not a virgin,” she says. “I had a steady boyfriend when I was younger, but none in recent years.” She holds her head high with a little smirk. “A mental institution is not such a great place to meet men.”
I don’t smile. It doesn’t amuse me to think of her with other men.
“I would imagine not,” I tell her, wanting to change the subject.
“Sir?” she asks.
“Mmm?”
“How will you keep track of the money I pay you back. My wages?”
“A simple method, kitten,” I tell her. “I’ll record your hourly wage. We will keep track of how much you’ve paid off.”
“Sir?”
I nod.
“What happens when I’ve paid my debt?” she asks. “When I’m… done.”
“You’ll be free of debt to me.”
I don’t give her a further response and the ambiguous answer makes fear flicker in her eyes.
She will know too much. She will have seen too much.
She will not survive her payback.
Chapter 7
They say the definition of trauma is a deeply distressing or disturbing experience, often marked by the inability to process that experience. According to the experts, part of the reason Calina regressed as far as she did, in addition to the brain damage she suffered, was watching the death of our father.
After what I’ve seen today, the trauma… what he says he will do to me, and what we do tonight, tomorrow, and the day after… I wonder. Am I as susceptible to trauma as Calina? If I keep experiencing the types of things I did today, will I end up not needing to pretend I’m mentally ill, but actually going there myself?
Tonight, he brings me down to practice for tomorrow. I’m to be on my best behavior, and I know that. He told me clearly, if I don’t behave, he’ll punish me.
Maybe I’m sick and twisted inside, though, because when he showed me what he has in his closet, a deep, dark, sensual part of me wanted to incur punishment at his hands. Maybe to make it easier to hate him?
I should hate him.
And as the inner turmoil burns in my brain, I begin to wonder.
Has the descent to insanity already begun? Am I already beginning to lose all semblance of control?
I sucked him off, and fuck, the feel of his belt around my neck… the taste of his swollen cock in my mouth, so responsive to my licks and suckling… hell, I want to do it again.
And I’m determined to pay off what I owe him, every last dime, as fastidiously as I can.
I’m in the bedroom, ready to go back outside this room, after being prepared once again by the people he hired. I look at myself in the mirror, at the pale blue evening gown painted on my body, accentuating every feminine curve. At my hair, pinned onto my head with delicate swirls and tucks, diamond hoops at my ears. My makeup is understated, but accentuates my best features.
I don’t look like the boring, almost tomboyish woman who came here, but beautiful.
And that unnerves me. He won’t be able to keep his hands off me this way.
But isn’t that what I want?
I scowl at my reflection. I have no idea what I want. None at all.
Does it matter?
There is only one thing I really need right now, and that is to find a phone to check on Calina. I will do everything else he tells me, the picture of perfect obedience. But tonight, I will call her. I will check on her. Just to appease my conscience.
He’ll punish me if he finds out.
And maybe I’m okay with that.
I hear his footsteps just moments before he comes in behind me. My eyes meet his in the mirror above my head, and those vivid blue eyes are furious.
“What is it?” I ask. I’ve done nothing but obey him. Why does he look like he wants to break something?
“Come out of there,” he snaps, then swears angrily under his breath in Russian, looking at my dress. “Change into something else,” he says. “I don’t need you wearing something that shows your tits to every man within a one-mile radius.” He’s dressed simply in a t-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy at all. The t-shirt’s stretched tight against his biceps, taut against his chest, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide his massive, muscled physique.
“Why am I dressed like this and you’re dressed like that?” I ask.
“I gave you an instruction,” he reminds, his brows knitting together in warning that this is the only time he’ll remind me.
Okay, then. So he doesn’t like the clothes he picked out for me. Isn’t that lovely.
“Alright,” I tell him, walking over to the closet where my new clothes hang, rows and rows of beautiful garments that overwhelm me a little. I have precisely one pair of jeans, one pair of yoga pants, and three tops at home. Or… I did, anyway. I don’t care much for clothes, and have no need for these high-end beauties in my day-to-day existence.
In my… former day-to-day existence. Does it matter anymore? Who I was is no longer relevant. I’m Calina, here to pay off her debt, and now I’m living another existence, owned by another.
I hold up an eggplant gown, but he looks at the neckline and shakes his head with a furious scowl that I have to admit I find a little terrifying. I try on a green one, then a white one, a pale pink one, and finally he curses angrily under his breath and takes a red one off the hanger. We’ve gone through nearly everything in the closet.
“Arms up,” he orders. I obey, then stand still as he tugs it down my body. “It is useless. There is no way to hide how beautiful you are. And the point of tonight is a dress rehearsal for tomorrow. I want to be sure you’re comfortable dressed in formal clothing.”
It’s odd, though, and makes me feel like I’m on a display, the sole woman walking down a runway. Or the plank. Depending on how you look at it.
He spins me around and zips the dress up my back, so quickly I stumble a little. He grabs my elbow to keep me from falling.
“I didn’t make you dress me like this,” I bite out, keeping my voice calm because I don’t want to incur his anger again, and I know one of my rules demands I speak to him politely. “It isn’t my fault.”
He slams his palm against my ass so quickly and firmly, I gasp in pain, the tingle spreading across my entire ass. Jesus. I mutter in my head about the size of his damn palm.
“It is your fault,” he corrects. “You’re here for what you’ve done, to make retribution for the sins against the Bratva. Now I’m forced to parade you in front of them, knowing that I would knock the teeth out of any man who looks below your neckline.”
A little thrill of… something… bolts through me.
He doesn’t want you, I remind myself.
He wants your body.
Leading me to the exit of his apartment, I marvel once more how impeccably clean it is. There isn’t a throw pillow out of place, and there are lines in the carpet in the living room still visible from when the cleaners vacuumed earlier. The windows gleam without so much as a single fingerprint. He’s had this place perfected.
Just like me. I stood like a statue while they waxed and shaved and primped and preened, filed and straightened and dollied me up.
Does he want his woman as clean as his h
ome?
It’s a sign of control. I’m prisoner to a control freak.
We walk in silence down the hall and he leads me to a large dining room, complete with an enormous table and sideboard. I marvel at the way those around us bow their head in deference when he walks in the room. There’s an air of undeniable authority to him with everything he does. When he speaks, they listen.
Waiters bring champagne in flutes. He takes two, and hands me one.
“Thank you,” I tell him but he doesn’t release the flute.
“Thank you, sir,” I quickly amend.
A quick nod tells me I passed the first test.
As I drink my champagne, other couples show up. One, the large bearded man from earlier, has a tall, thin woman on his arm. She speaks with ease to the others in the room, and they all seem to know her. A few others have women with them, too, none quite as dressed up as I am. Heat flares my cheeks when I realize I’m literally the only one as dolled up as this. He did this on purpose.
But it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters tonight is finding a phone to call Calina.
Demyan’s talking to one of his men when I tug his arm. He turns to me, raising a stern brow.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I whisper in his ear. “Please.”
With a nod, he excuses himself from the others and leads me to a hall, Great.
Did I actually think he’d let me walk myself?
“Be quick,” he orders.
“How’m I doing?” I ask him, risking a smile.
His only response is a scowl.
I wonder if another blow job would loosen him up. God.
I walk into the bathroom, taking note of everything I can. I hoped he would let me go alone, and I’d be able to at least scout a phone, but how can I possibly do so with him ever at my side? I may need to be patient, but I’m not going to give up.
I go back out to meet him and find he’s several paces down the hallway, talking on his phone.
