Only Pretend

by Nora Flite

  “Oh,” I said in surprise. “Um, hello.” I suspected the women working in the house understood some of my English, if not most of it. They just played dumb out of habit. Or because they don't want to get more involved.

  Dusting off her shoulders, she pointed to me. I touched myself, blinking. Next she started to shuffle away, heading towards the upstairs restroom. Curiously I followed, wondering what was going on.

  Inside, she jabbed a stubby finger at the sink. The stink of bleach hit me before I saw the bowl. Waving my hand by my nose, I stared from it, to her, then back. “What's this?”

  Reaching out, Ticked scrubbed a strand of my hair between two fingers. Standing straight, I saw the knowing gleam in her grey eyes. “blondínka,” she said.

  Warily, I peered in the mirror and stroked the roots on my scalp. “blondínka?”

  Ticked gave a nod, gesturing again at the bleach. She spoke rapidly; I caught none of it, I didn't need to. She knows about my hair. Is she helping me? Lowering my hand to the bleach in the sink, the applicator brush, I smiled in defeat. “Blonde. Yes.”

  She motioned me to sit. Without another thought, I did just that. Her fingers were gentle, peeling chunk after chunk of hair aside to douse the growing brunette. Bleach seared my nostrils. I was dizzy by the time Ticked was through with me.

  Watching her empty the bucket down the drain, I brushed my damp hair, studied the bright, fresh color. Leonide won't know. Not unless I tell him. A knot snagged the brush; I yanked. He called training me in time a 'challenge.'

  Ticked stood behind me, weaving my hair into a gentle plait.

  A challenge. Opening my eyes, I looked at my reflection. Yes. At this rate, I think that means I'll be gone before this grows out far enough again.

  Was there more risk in letting my new 'husband' find out before Leonide? Clutching my hands to my belly, I nodded after Ticked as she slipped away. How can I know what to do? I've never met this other man. Fuck, I've spent over a week with Leonide and I can't predict anything about him.

  It was a bitter affirmation.

  Rising, I walked with heavy steps into the hall. Unless Leonide pulled me aside, I still had many chores to fill my hours.

  ****

  I was dragging my feet when I climbed to my room. I'd glimpsed Leonide briefly at breakfast. His eyes had burned into me, did things no mere look should do. Finishing a cup of coffee, he tossed on a jacket and strut out of the room. His passing words were a subtle—if unneeded—threat. “I'll be in town today. Behave.”

  Then he was gone. I made a point to stay away from the front hallway all day.

  Now, yawning, I brushed back my hair and turned my door knob. He went into town, I didn't even see him at lunch. I wasn't comfortable with how lonely the house felt when he wasn't around me.

  The gossamer dress that hung from my bed post was fluid as rain. Purple, just a hint of sparkle, it was far out of place in my drab confines. Touching it was a joy. There wasn't a moment to ponder on why it was waiting for me.

  His footfalls were sharp, expensive loafers poised in the doorway. “Do you like it?”

  I swept fingers over the dress; peered back at his smug expression. “It's lovely.”

  “Good.” A single long step put him in front of me. With the back of a knuckle, he caressed my cheek. “You're wearing it to dinner.”

  I shuddered at his touch. He moved through me, forced my blood to pump. “I don't understand. Dinner where?”

  “Here. In my home.” Leonide paused with his grip on my jugular. His thumb made lazy circles. From memory, my ass squeezed. He couldn't have known, but his smile was sly. Was I blushing, was that it?

  Spinning away, he walked to the hall. “Get changed and meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes. Put everything on. There's a bag on your bed.” Blinking, I spotted the leather satchel I had missed in my surprise. “If you aren't wearing everything, I'll know.”

  He'll know?

  Perfectly fluxed, I watched him fade from view. Shutting the door, I eyed that mystery bag. He's got something planned. I approached the satchel as if it were a bomb. That's it. He's always got something. Shit, that man made me paranoid.

  Untying the bag, I carefully up-ended it. Many things toppled out; lipstick, a pair of purple stilettos, and a shiny pair of lavender panties. Except, when they fell, they sounded... wrong. Heavy?

  Brushing the shoes aside, I hooked my fingers in the underwear. They were weighted. Frowning, I spread them open. Inside the crotch, a solid, smooth lump was tucked. It had been slid into a pouch to keep it in place.

  Tugging it into the light, I stared at the device. A small button was lit, telling me it was electronic. Clarity slammed into me roughly. Another vibrator. The panties felt like a new pair of chains. He expects me to wear this under my dress, to dinner.

  My fist threatened to crush the toy.

  Breathing in to calm myself, I jammed the device back into the panties. If I don't wear it, he said he would know. Of course he'll know.

  God fucking dammit!

  The sexual torment was too much. I felt the damage from our last match even now. I still felt hate for Leonide, fought down waves of disgust at knowing my future. Yet, my body had imprinted on the feelings he'd given me.

  Before I'd had my Vegas memory forced back into place, I'd already been fighting the way my belly tingled and fluttered when he stood too close. He knew me, knew my body.

  With my walls crumbled, what defense could I seek?

  Lowering my eyebrows, I jammed my feet into the underwear. They were snug against me, nuzzling right on my clitoris. Imagining what he had planned for me was giving me heartburn. On top of that, my nipples were uncomfortably firm.

  The dress fit me perfectly. It revealed cleavage, my smooth shoulders. The back hem swept just to the floor. Slipping on the heels, I took the lipstick into the hallway bathroom. In that mirror, I gazed on myself in abject amazement.

  I looked stunning.

  It was like the garment had been made just for me. That muted my delight; warned me of the reality. Leonide probably has my measurements. More and more, my existence was violated.

  Sighing, I spread on the glossy pink to my lips, smoothed my hair. For making me go through all of this, he better be dressed up, too. I stopped in the hall, heel in the air. Shit. This is like a first date. It should have been meaningless after all I'd experienced.

  The thought of Leonide and I sharing a romantic meal was...

  Nope. Stop that. Steeling myself, I strode for the stairs. Do not go down this road where you think of this monster as an actual person. He's taunted you, hurt you, he plans to 'marry' you off to someone you haven't even met!

  Leonide is no good.

  He's not...

  At the base of the steps, he was waiting for me. His hair was slicked back, beard looking soft and glossy. I still hadn't pegged his age, but now, he looked as young as thirty. Refined in his stance, he held himself so comfortably.

  He wore a long sleeved shirt as blue as the sea. His vest was pale gold, silver buttons dotting the front. I couldn't explain it, but even his belt—a sharp thing darker than his own eyes—had my chest thumping.

  Leonide had always looked good.

  Tonight, he was tantalizing.

  “You're more beautiful than ever, Celeste.” Extending a hand, he held it there, waited for me.

  My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. Move, blink, do something! Ever graceful, I stumbled from the bottom step and came close to breaking my ankle. His arms caught me, pushed my breasts to his chest and nose to his throat.

  Without shame, I inhaled till I could burst.

  God, he smells extra divine.

  Taking my hands, he held me at a distance. For a minute, I pretended we were royalty. That I was rich, powerful, and not someone being trained to serve a stranger. When he smiled down at me, just a hint of sharp teeth, I could believe it.

  I never wanted to play pretend so much.

  The lump in
my throat was solid. “Ah, you look great, too.”

  Gracing me with twinkling eyes, Leonide released a hand, buried it in his pocket. Then the vibrations came, shattering my muscles, breaking my fantasy.

  Right, I thought, doubling over and gasping. All a game. Just not mine. Pleasure took my strength, and to my great regret, I came on the spot.

  His game, always his.

  I slumped forward; he held me for the second time, arm on my waist as the toy stopped. Over my whimpers, he pressed lips to my ear lobe and spoke. “There we are. Now you're as beautiful as you can be.” To outside eyes, we were as proper as peaches.

  We both knew the truth.

  Gathering myself, I self-consciously rubbed my thighs. “Is that—is this what dinner will be like, sir?”

  “More or less.” He took the lead; I kept pace at his side. “Tonight, we'll be eating in the main dining room. I have guests to entertain.”

  My arm tightened on his. “Guests.”

  “Guests.” Baring his teeth in a laugh, Leonide plucked at his pocket. I knew the remote was there, tensed up in anticipation. “They're friends of mine. You'll be serving us tonight, Celeste.”

  As we turned a corner, voices echoed from the double doors at the end. On reflex I jammed my heels in, slowed us. Leonide stopped walking. “Why? What's the point of making me do this?” Serve them, how will I serve them?

  There hadn't been many hints of his violence. Lately, he'd taken to expressing his sexual interests.

  Standing there in the darkened hall, Leonide took hold of my thin wrist. Twisting my skin, breaking tiny blood vessels, he drove me to my knees. “Quit screaming,” he hissed. I covered my mouth with my free hand, eyes shut, flashing with red-pain. “I'm not afraid to punish you in front of them, but I'd prefer we could at least eat first.”

  Heaving in air, I throttled a moan. He released me; I cradled my arm and winced.

  “Celeste,” he said flatly, demanding I look at him. There was no hint of leniency in his angled features. “Stop asking me why. If I ask you to do something, you do it. If one of the men in there asks, you will do it.”

  Rubbing my raw flesh, I stood as slowly as I could. “I understand, sir.” I don't I don't I still fucking don't.

  Turning away, his wide smile bloomed like Spring. Shoving the doors apart, we were met with a chorus of cheers. “Friends!” he shouted. “I've arrived!”

  It was all orange and yellow inside. Following in his wake, I scanned the long dining room for danger. The table was an immense, skinny rectangle. The four men who sat at it were evenly dispersed, glasses raised high in a toast.

  I didn't know them. They raked their eyes over me like animals; acted as if I were the feast they waited for.

  “Friends,” Leonide said, waving me to stand beside him. “This is Celeste, my newest, pretty little bride to be.”

  “Ah yes,” a heavy-set man with wiggling chins said. “She's as lovely a girl as you've ever had!” I gawked at him; not because of what he said, but because he said it in English. I'd expected them to act like the women, the people in town.

  There was a twisted unfairness to it all. People who can understand me. Too bad they're already buddy buddy with the man selling me. Studying them all, I judged them just as evil.

  Leonide dropped into the seat at the head of the table. I hovered, not liking how his guests were still staring at me. One of them hadn't quit smiling yet. “Celeste, go bring us more drinks.” Pointing to a door across the room, I understood it was a whole other kitchen then the one I had seen.

  Fine. It gets me away.

  “Don't take too long,” Leonide said with a wink.

  They watched me until I crossed into the kitchen and out of view. Paranoia was clutching along my brain stem. This whole fucking mess, how deep does it go? He's not scared of anyone in the town aiding me or reporting that there is a god damn KIDNAPPING happening up the road.

  And now, he brings over 'friends' who have clearly seen this before.

  Inside the room, I found Braid and HairKnot—the two women who had washed me and photographed me. They were leaning on tiny stools, one which threatened to buckle under Braid the longer the minutes stretched on.

  It was obvious they were in charge of dinner. From the oven, a heat wave mixed with onions made my mouth water. “I, uh.” Gathering myself, I looked between them. “Drinks. I'm supposed to bring drinks to them.”

  The red-head, Knot, pointed to my left. Glasses had been spread out on a tray; an ice bucket of some kind of wine completed the set.

  I struggled to uncork the bottle, grunting with exertion. The girls sniggered quietly, but I heard them; ignored them. Finally, I filled five glasses, arranged the tray carefully. My first job when I was just thirteen had been a waitress at a greasy spoon diner. It wasn't legal, working that young, but my parents were on board and no one said a word. The owner was very nice—and very pleased—to let me cut my teeth for tips only.

  Balancing the glasses, digging for every memory of that experience, I walked into the dining room. The men were talking, all smiles and whispers, until they saw me. Then they switched to watching.

  Me, the most interesting fucking thing of the evening.

  One by one I set their drinks by them. I reminded myself to smile when I saw Leonide staring pointedly. Yes, look pretty, be polite, I remember everything you want me to—“Oh!” I covered my mouth, knees pushing together while the soft wave of vibrations passed.

  Turning, I fumed silently at his sly smile. He wanted to remind me of something, alright. The tingles faded, then stayed at a low burn. He'd turned it on, left it on a setting gentle enough to warm my insides but not make me collapse.

  A hand touched my elbow; the fat man from before. “Are you alright, my dear?”

  Nodding, I casually smoothed the front of my dress, tray at my hip. “Just fine, ah...” Shit, what do I call him? Sir, like Leonide?

  The heavy man came to my rescue. “Feliks is fine, I've no need for any other titles here.” His eyes were kind, even if they were rather beady in his skull. I caught the interesting lilt to how he spoke English; softer than Leonide's.

  I wasn't allowed time for intrigue. “Celeste.” Leonide purred my name, but I recognized the razors in the sugar.

  Standing tall, I flashed the table a quick head bow. “Does anyone need anything else?”

  Though I paid attention to their polite head shakes, it was Leonide I was really looking at. A satisfied curve tugged at his lips. The delight I experienced at his approval rivaled the sordid heat between my thighs.

  “Take a seat with us.” Motioning to a blank chair closest to his end of the table, Leonide swirled the wine in his glass. I sat down gingerly, trying not to wince at how the vibrations were pressed on my sensitive flesh even firmer.

  Next to me was a thin man, a weathered face hinting at middle age. “You did not pour for yourself?” Now, that was an accent weightier than Leonide's.

  “I didn't think about it,” I admitted.

  “Pity.” The stranger sipped from his glass. “It's very good.”

  Pursing my lips, I put on a forced smile. “Good to know.”

  He paused, considering me with almond-brown eyes. I was reminded of a vulture, but I did not enjoy the thought of being sized up like a dead animal. I'd felt Leonide's dark side enough times to recognize that tainted stare in someone else.

  Feliks broke the tension. “You think this is good wine, Marat? Hah! The swill you must have imported in.”

  Looking away from me, Marat set down his glass. “Leonide had it shipped, not me. I'd be wary of insulting our host. Do give us both pardon, Feliks, for thinking your country produces shit wine.”

  A hush swept the room.

  Leaning forward, his jowls shaking, Feliks did not try to hide his vitriol. “Estonia has been making wine for decades. It's not our fault if you're taste buds are as uncultured as you.”

  Estonia.

  Did he say...

  “T
ruthfully, this wine could be water for all I care, so long as it can get me drunk!” Leonide said, slamming his palms on the table with a laugh. The men chuckled, all of them wishing the tension to vanish.

  All of them but Marat, who sat with his shoulders hunched, wine glass turning in his fingers. His grin was a tiny thing, terrible in nature.

  I'd never watched two people hate each other so much.

  But Feliks did say Estonia. Is that... where I am?

  I didn't know square one about Estonia.

  Fingers of electricity stroked my clit. Biting my tongue, I looked at Leonide in disbelief. He returned my stare innocently. “Celeste, go bring us dinner.”

  Happy to get away from the fuming man beside me, I slipped into the kitchen. The women glanced up, then waved at the giant pan of meat on the stove. They'd left a knife for me to carve.

  Gripping the handle, I eyed the deadly edge. How long had it been since I'd once been tempted with that razor? A week? Had I come so far that Leonide didn't even wonder if it was risky to give me access to something this dangerous?

  Did he trust me... or was he just not afraid?

  Slicing the meat, I filled the plates, even making one for myself. No one said I couldn't eat. How could they expect me to sit with them and starve?

  Braid mumbled something in Russian. Of course I didn't catch it, but turning with my tray, I squinted at them both. They hadn't been the nicest to me, but if Ticked, who had covertly assisted me with my hair, was any indication...

  “Estonia.” The word fell from my lips. Together, the women shifted; stared at me suspiciously. “Estonia,” I said again. With one finger, I pointed at the ground. Will they understand what I am asking? If they do, will they even tell me?

  They shared a look. It was the red-head who moved first, chin bobbing while she waved at her feet. “Da. Estonia.”

  Setting my jaw, I inclined my head. “Thank you.”

  Estonia. I know where I am.

  ****

  All through the meal, Leonide pushed me further and further. Initially he'd seemed keen to just let the vibrator run gentle. My forehead was shiny, chest pink and nipples taut. As the time wore on, conversation clipping in and out of English to Russian to—what I now assumed was—Estonian as the men drank more.