by Kitty Thomas
“I need to use the restroom,” Annette said, even though it was a lie. She’d gone on the plane.
“It’s down the hallway to your right.”
He didn’t follow her out.
48
Anton watched her leave the box. He knew it was unwise to trust her this soon—to give her this much free reign. She could go find help. Her sister could be in protective custody well before Brian could act out any threat Anton had made.
The truth was, he didn’t want to control her with threats. And maybe some sick part of him wanted to get caught. They hadn’t brought a single girl to the house to train, and already this was a shit show. Brian would never give the idea up. Lindsay seemed equally committed. It would be so much simpler to just get caught and shut the whole operation down before it got a chance to get off the ground—before they’d committed more crimes and the stakes were even higher.
By this point, it was clear to Anton that Brian was going to kill people. He’d wanted to kill three people already. It had taken a delicate dance to keep that from happening. But at some point, the line would be crossed. Anton wasn’t sure he could live with that, even if he wasn’t the one doing the killing.
While he thought about all this, Katya returned to the box. With Annette gone, she spoke English. “Where did Annette go?”
“Ladies' room,” Anton said. “You know your understudy is shit. Really terrible. She’s practically tripping all over her feet on stage. The whole performance feels… congested. She doesn’t float like you do.”
Color bloomed out over her face at the compliment.
“It was too soon to put her on stage for a part so big,” Katya agreed. “The director is livid. He’s yelling at her backstage. I wish he’d let me dance. I’m fine.”
“No,” Anton said. “You are not fine. You turn your foot wrong just once, and that ankle will go again. You can’t afford it.”
Katya flopped into Annette’s chair in the least graceful movement Anton had seen from her. “The director is putting someone else in for the second act.”
“But not you?” Anton said.
“No, you don’t have to worry.”
“Good.”
“I thought you came to see me dance,” she pouted.
“I did.”
“But you don’t want me to dance now.”
“I don’t want you hurt,” he said as if that should be obvious. “There will be other performances. You will dance for me for a long time.”
“I miss you.”
Anton sighed. He knew this was coming. He hadn’t seen her since the night they’d taken things beyond his voyeuristic love affair with her movements on the stage. There had been a quiet flirtation between them for years, and when it had finally culminated in a physical act, it had been clear almost from the start—at least to Anton—that this was just not meant to be.
There had been a party much like the one happening tonight. It hadn’t taken long for their incompatibilities to become clear.
“It’s not natural with us, Katya, and you know it.”
“I could do better. I could try.”
“No. It’s not in you. You like casual in-the-bedroom play only. You like a game. And I’m not playing.”
“I don’t want to play with you. I made a mistake. I was nervous. Just give me one more chance to please you.”
“You know I have someone now.”
“I know, but… you can only have one? I wouldn’t get in the way of you two, you know I wouldn’t.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it. My relationship with Annette is still new. And you have to tour. I don’t want a part time fling with you after shows. I want someone who is really mine.”
Katya had turned her attention to the light pink gown she wore—what Anton always thought of as ballet pink. She couldn’t seem to ever get away from it even if she wasn’t on stage or in the studio. “And she’s really yours?” she asked, pushing and wheedling, trying to find the loophole that would land her back at his feet.
“Yes, she’s really mine.” It was true, and it wasn’t true. Maybe it was why he’d given her the freedom to go to the bathroom alone—the chance to escape. Because he wanted to know she was in this with him. He wanted both to own her fully and completely with no way out, and also for her to want the same arrangement. Even as he thought it, Anton knew these things were impossible.
He’d only really had her for a day, but how could this possibly work if she wasn’t kinky? And yet, Annette felt like his in a way Katya couldn’t and in a way even his last full-time sub hadn’t. The difference was that he held the power of life and death over Annette. He didn’t like that this was what excited him—knowing he could do whatever he wanted with her with no limits beyond his own conscience.
That kind of power was intoxicating. He’d spent years trying to get to that feeling and place with all the games and even a couple of full time subs at various points, but it was never enough. Nothing had been enough until now.
Katya was a bit in love with him. If he’d given her a chance—despite her travel schedule—they could have made something work. But it was never going to be the absolute power he had with Annette. It would always feel empty and incomplete. It would always leave him hungry for more.
And yet, what had he done? Like a fool, he’d let the one thing he’d wanted go. Annette had to know that was what he was doing. There was no way she was coming back. Why would she? She’d probably called her sister as soon as she’d reached the lobby. She could be in a cab to anywhere by now.
Anton kept watching the curtain of the private box, waiting for the authorities to burst in and arrest him. Or maybe she wouldn’t turn him in. Maybe she and Janette would just run. Somehow that was the worst of all options.
A moment later the curtain parted, and he jumped. But it was only Annette. That crazy fucking…
When Annette saw Katya sitting in her chair, she visibly stiffened.
“Katya, we’ll see you at the party,” Anton said. He used the tone he’d used with her their one night together—the tone he took with subs.
She looked hurt, but she took the hint and got up—once again the graceful ballerina—and left.
When she was gone, Annette sat back down.
Anton moved his chair closer to her. “Why did you come back?”
“My sister...”
He shook his head. “No. You could have gotten you and her to safety by now.”
“Do you want me to go?”
Anton reached over and gripped her wrist, holding it hard against the arm rest, so hard he was sure she would have a bruise the next day. “I want you to do whatever I tell you every single fucking day for the rest of your life.” The force of his words surprised even him.
He couldn’t let her see the million little weaknesses that could crush and destroy this fucked-up thing before it was off the ground. He let go of her wrist, and she pulled it swiftly onto her lap where she proceeded to rub the soreness out, watching him warily like some wounded animal.
“Why did you come back?” he asked again.
She shrugged. “Are you bored with me already?”
“Never.”
The lights flickered their warning, and people down below scattered to find their seats.
“Master, is Katya…?”
“Is Katya what?”
“Never mind.”
But he thought he knew. She seemed jealous, but that was crazy. He had to just be seeing what he wanted to see. Maybe he would test the theory at the party.
The lights stopped flickering, and the theater went dark. The orchestra began to play, the curtain raised, the stage lights came up, and a new Giselle flitted onto the stage. She resembled the other dancer closely enough that few were likely to notice the change. This one was still no Katya, but not an embarrassment to the company, either.
By this point, Anton had lost interest in the ballet, his gaze turning repeatedly to Annette. She sat so still and stiff, staring a
t the stage that he knew she was only pretending to watch. He wondered if she could feel his eyes on her. Either way, she would feel his hands.
He scanned the audience below and found his friend, Sergio, sitting in the middle of the orchestra seating. Sergio had been born in Russia to an Italian mother, not one street over from Anton, though somehow they hadn’t met until they were both adults and Anton had been living in America for quite some time.
Not a bad seat, Anton mused, but definitely not comparable to the box. The lights from the stage lit his friend’s face up, and a few moments later, Sergio looked up, seemed to see Anton, and gave a small wave. Anton waved back. There were a few small overhead lights on in the box. They were too dim to read by, but perhaps bright enough to be seen.
A moment later Anton’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
I thought Katya was dancing tonight, the text read in Russian.
Not tonight. Injury. Sprain, Anton replied.
Who is your date?
So Sergio could see into the box.
Annette. My new sub. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Anton was sure he would lose the few friends he had if they knew the truth. His friends at the ballet had no idea of the birth of his recent criminal enterprise, and he was determined they never would—which made bringing Annette here to meet his friends a dangerous game. It was yet another proof that he wanted to get caught to be freed from the many crimes he was sure to commit if his life continued down its current path—crimes that had seemed no big deal when this was all only talk.
Can we play with her at the party?
We’ll see.
Then a moment later, Anton texted Sergio again. Do me a favor?
Sure.
Glance up at the box every few minutes. I’m about to give you a show much better than the one on stage.
Nice.
Anton closed his phone and looked over at Annette in time to catch her watching him. Her gaze went quickly back to the stage. He moved his chair even closer to her, so that the arm rests touched. Then he leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“Kiska, look down into the audience. I have a friend down there who has noticed you.” Anton stroked the side of her throat where her pulse jumped into his hand as she looked down into the audience just in time for Sergio to look up and catch her gaze. “This box is not so very private. Anyone could just look up here and see...”
He slid the straps of her gown down her shoulders and tugged until the dress was around her waist. Only a black lace bra guarded her modesty from anyone in the audience below who might look up. She stayed statue still as if in such stillness she could remain invisible to those in the audience.
Anton kissed the side of her neck and felt her lean into him. “You seemed bored with the ballet,” he murmured against her skin.
“N-no, I wasn’t bored.”
“Then what were you?”
She didn’t reply. In truth he knew she hadn’t been bored. For whatever reason she’d seemed hurt that he wasn’t paying more attention to her. But he’d been trying to make her comfortable. He’d thought to slowly ease her into tonight’s play at the party later.
At first he only stroked on top of the bra, pausing every few moments to trail his fingers over her décolletage. Her breath deepened in response. His hand went under her bra to touch the nipple underneath. It was already erect, yet there was unmistakable tension coiled through her body—tension he typically destroyed on his massage table.
Sergio hadn’t taken his eyes off her from the moment they’d locked. His friend could always be counted on for the intense lustful stare. His desire for her was unmistakable, as was the blush flooding into Annette’s cheeks so bright it was visible even in so much darkness. She should be grateful she wasn’t under a spotlight. Soft dim lighting, barely perceptible outlines. But when the bra came off, her pale skin would call attention to itself, maybe from more than Sergio.
Most of this cultured, pretentious audience would be scandalized for a moment and then look away, stiffening in their distaste, pretending to watch the ballet as fiercely as Annette had.
“Spread your legs.” He kept his voice so low he wasn’t sure she’d understood him with the accent until finally her legs parted, spread wide in her chair so that her thighs touched the bottom edges of the arm rests.
“Good girl.”
He stroked between her thighs for a moment, pushing one finger inside her. It was just as he thought. She was enticingly wet. And yet, despite the arousal, there was still the bit of fear on her face and the discomfort with the exposure.
Anton pulled a tube of the arousal cream from his pocket. Michael’s effusive praise of this product had still fallen short of its almost magical abilities. Anton liked to think of this little tube as permission for her to let go. She was already aroused, but she wasn’t so out of her mind with it that her self-consciousness was gone. He showed her the tube, watching her reaction carefully.
She was conflicted, and that was all he needed. He opened the tube and rubbed a small amount of the cream between her legs. Then he returned the tube to his pocket and texted Sergio.
It’s about to get interesting.
I was already riveted, came the reply. Do I get to see her tits?
Very soon.
Maybe it was that she was already so aroused, but the cream seemed to work even faster than before as she squirmed in her seat, trying to soothe away her building desire.
“I should dose you with this cream every day several times a day until you crawl for me without any resistance or hesitation,” he growled into her ear.
There was a small answering whimper.
Anton unhooked her bra and slid it off, then he began to stroke her breasts again, now free of any fabric obstruction. Her eyes drifted closed as he massaged the exposed skin.
“No. Don’t take your eyes off Sergio.”
She opened her eyes and looked down at his friend again. Sergio had long ago forgotten about the ballet. The only show he was interested in was the one being performed above the stage in the not-so-private box.
A few other audience members had glanced up and noticed the bare-breasted woman, and they’d had the expected responses. One woman now sat stiff as a board in the eighth row, watching the dancers with feigned concentration, though her husband kept gazing quickly up at the box and then back at the stage, then back at the box—as if he couldn’t bear to miss anything on either stage.
Thankfully Annette’s focus was entirely between her own legs—and on Sergio. Anton was sure even with the cream, she might hesitate if she knew she was drawing a larger crowd than just his friend.
Anton waited for a peak in the music to snap the nipple clamps on. Annette let out a loud gasp that was swallowed up by the percussion section. The incredible tension on her nipples seemed to send even stronger sparks between her legs, as her hand drifted to ease away the ache. Anton smacked her hard on the leg.
“No! You will come when I say you can come.”
He caressed her legs for several minutes before finally giving her the relief she so craved, burying his fingers between her legs. He moved with the music, more forceful when the music peaked and pulling back when the music receded.
Annette gripped the edge of the balcony, struggling to maintain eye contact with Sergio. Anton leaned in close and whispered. “When I let you come, you will scream for me. No one will hear you but me at the top of the music, do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
As the music rose into a crescendo, Anton stopped teasing her and got serious. It took so little sustained effort and pressure with her swollen clit and her wetness dripping on his hands. When the music climaxed, so did she, letting out the scream he’d demanded of her. Again, her noisiness was swallowed up by the music.
A moment later, when the orchestra was so quiet you had to strain to hear it, Anton removed the nipple clamps. Annette let out a shriek, calling the attention of most of the theater. She dropped down to the floor to esca
pe their curious stares.
The music picked up again, and the audience’s attention shifted back to the stage, most of them having no idea who had made that sound or why.
“You may get dressed,” Anton said.
Annette stayed on the ground, carefully putting her bra back on and pulling the dress up to cover her.
When she was finished, Anton produced a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her. “Go down to concessions and get yourself a bottle of water and a little chocolate. When you’ve finished it and collected yourself, you may return.”
She took the money from his hand and practically fled the box.
Annette stood in the hallway just outside the box, frozen in indecision. Why hadn’t she run away the last opportunity he’d given her? Maybe he was right, she could have called her sister and gotten her to safety. But couldn’t Anton call or text Brian just as quickly?
With her and Anton out like this, maybe Brian was just outside her sister’s house waiting for an excuse—he seemed paranoid enough to lie in wait for a kill order on a moment’s notice. And now, here was a second opportunity for escape in less than an hour. Was Anton that cocky and sure of himself, or was he really trying to let her go before… before what?
Should she just run away? Call the police? If she was quick about it, surely they could make it to Janette faster than Brian could. Wouldn’t Anton give her at least twenty minutes out here before he got suspicious?
But then there was the ugly truth that lingered and hovered in the air around her like some noxious incense that you couldn’t get away from no matter how hard you tried. She wanted him. She wanted him desperately, in the way normal people want air.
She’d come up with all the reasons why she shouldn’t want him. How evil he possibly was. How unfeeling to let Brian punish her. How disinterested to flirt with Katya right in front of her and allow her the chance to escape.
There was also the very reasonable thought that if she stayed and things turned deadly, then in her last moments alive she’d have no one to blame but herself for not taking these gilded opportunities to escape his clutches.
