Blaire's World: Volume One Page 4

  “Why?” I ask, not really needing to know. None of this is important, and it’s distracting me from getting to her training, but I want to know.

  “Why did you bring me up here?” she asks her own question.

  I tilt my head, examining her features. “I could use the truth serum on you. It would be easier to get my answers.” I won’t, but she doesn’t know that. The serum would make her mind clogged and she’d be useless to me physically for a day. I only have a week to get her ready; which makes every moment count.

  Her eyes widen, and for a split second, I see the fear lingering there. Just a brief moment before she covers it up with annoyance. She’s tired of threats and being bossed around. Which I find more amusing than maybe I should. After browsing her computer, I know it’s what she loves deep down. But she’s not in control here, she can’t just mutter a word and end all of this. Here, her submission isn’t her choice.

  “My sister learned Russian for work, so I taught myself.” She shrugs like her confession has no meaning, but I know better. I’ve met her sister. I know what the bitch is like. I’ve seen warmer temperatures in Siberia.

  “How many years older is she than you?” I ask, knowing it can’t be many, they look too similar. Although, not so close that my father should have mistaken one for the other. But he’s getting old, and it’s been many years since he had a run in with Danuta.

  “Seven.” She rests her forehead on her knees. A rumble from her stomach reminds me she didn’t have breakfast. That motherfucker comes back to my mind and I can’t wait to put my fist through his face later for his insolence.

  “You know what she does?” I ask, though prying into the connection between her and her sister won’t achieve my task.

  “She—” Magdalena sighs. “She’s going to find me. She’s going to come here and find me and kill all of you.” I hear the desire in her words, she wants them to be true, desperately.

  I don’t laugh. There’s nothing funny about what’s going to happen to her once I’m done with her. Letting her have hope would be cruel.

  “No. Magdalena, she’s not. She’s never going to find you. Once I have you properly trained, my father will sell you to the highest bidder. If you obey, if you learn, you’ll be lucky and a man who enjoys obedience will buy you. But if you resist, if you don’t present well, a man who enjoys punishing girls like you will buy you.” I step closer to the bed. “And you don’t want that.”

  Tears build in her eyes, shimmering on her lids before they fall silently down her cheeks. The flush from her orgasm has faded.

  “I have a meeting. Rest in here, don’t fuck around and I won’t bind you, but if you try to escape or hurt anyone that enters this room, you’ll be bound and chained.” I wipe my hand across my mouth, the taste of her still lingers on my tongue.

  Giving her the orgasm hadn’t been my original plan, but it seems to have done the trick. She’s more pliable, more thoughtful.

  “I’ll have Tricia bring up a tray of food for you. She won’t hurt you, but if you do anything that suggests disobedience, she will tell me.” It’s true, she will, if I ask her. Even after all the years under my father’s control, Tricia will still try to protect those she thinks are innocent. But she’s been conditioned never to directly lie. If asked, she will tell the truth.

  “I’m not hungry,” Magdalena says from the bed, her face is buried in her lap again. Her dark hair shrouds her features. She’s going to have a rough afternoon, but it can’t be helped.

  “Don’t be stupid. I can hear your stomach growling from here, and food will keep your strength up. You’ll need it.” I head to the door and unbolt it.

  “I won’t eat it,” she mumbles.

  “If you don’t eat, I’ll force it down. You won’t win these little tugs of wars, Magdalena. I will make you even if I have to sit on you and shove the food down your throat with my fingers, you will eat.” Potential buyers will want her healthy - not a bag of bones, I tell myself.

  I take her silence as agreement and leave her alone in the room, locking the door from the outside. No one can go in or out without my key.

  Once I get Tricia working on more food for our newest captive, I search out the bad guy. It’s time we have a talk about touching other people’s things.

  6

  It’s evening before I hear the lock on the door turn again. Earlier, a young woman, Tricia, brought me a tray of food. Fresh fruit, toast, an omelet, and coffee. I tried to speak to her, to get some information, maybe help, but she only shook her head and kept her lips sealed.

  I scramble from the bed and brace myself. If it’s not her, it could either be Kristoff or one of his men. I won’t be caught off guard a second time.

  Kristoff steps inside and stops short when he sees me, fists up, legs spread, ready to battle. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Obviously, I’m not as intimidating as I feel.

  “You’re dressed. Why?” he asks while bolting the door.

  I drop my hands to my sides and stand upright, tugging on the t-shirt I wear. His pants were all too big on me. So is the dark blue t-shirt, but at least it covers me.

  “I was cold,” I lie. I could have just snuggled up under the covers. The linens looked so soft, so comfortable, I was afraid I would fall asleep too deeply to hear if the deadbolt turned again.

  “Lie again, and I’ll hang a weight from your tongue.” His words are chilled.

  “I wanted to get dressed,” I say and hug myself around the middle.

  “And you think your wants are meaningful here?”

  I wish I could see past the darkness in his stare. He can’t be so black and white, either angry or pleased. There has to be a middle ground there somewhere.

  “I think you left me in a room full of clothes, and I had none. So, I fixed the problem.” I manage to keep most of the sarcasm out of my tone.

  “You weren’t told to get dressed. You only do what you are told to do, and don’t do what you are told not to. This is the first rule you will learn.” He pockets the key and leans his hip against the door. “Remove the shirt.”

  “I won’t be trained like some fucking animal. I will not let you sell me.” I say the words, feel the heat in them as they leave my tongue, but my insides aren’t so confident. There’s no one here to stop them, to help me.

  He doesn’t bother to respond. He walks to me and rips the shirt neckline hem down the middle. In one quick motion, he spins me around and yanks the shirt down my arms, the fabric burning my skin as it’s pulled free.

  “You don’t let anything around here. Here, you do as your told. I’m getting really tired of telling you that. You need to accept your place, accept what’s happening or it’s going to be so much worse for you.” He grips my hair, yanking my head back and bringing his face close to mine. “Don’t make this worse on yourself.”

  His words remind me of a parent pleading with their child to just behave, because they don’t want to punish them. But that can’t be true for Kristoff, this is what he does. His whole life is making women do things they don’t want to do and punishing them when they don’t.

  “Fuck. You,” I say through clenched teeth. I think being left alone for too long has given me a new bravado. I want out, and I’m not going to be a pussy about it. I will not let this man scare me, I won’t let him train me and sell me like I’m nothing. Because I am something.

  “You haven’t earned a fucking yet.” His lips curl slowly like he’s found a new way to piss me off.

  Gathering as much saliva as I can, I spit it in his face. It lands across his eyes and nose, dripping down his cheek. I gasp at the sight, knowing it was too far, too much. He’ll have to retaliate.

  With his free hand, he wipes my spit from his face and smears it across my chest. Struggling only hurts me, his grip too tight at my scalp, but at least I try. I have to escape. I can’t give in.

  “Fine. You want a fucking.” He drags me to the bed and shoves me down over the side. His hand smashes my face
into the mattress; his knee jams between my thighs, wedging them apart.

  “No!” I can’t get a good enough grip on the bed or gather enough strength to push him off me. Like a wild animal, I shove and kick and fight him. This isn’t going to happen. I won’t let it.

  “You wanted this. Remember that. You asked me for it.” His tongue runs along the shell of my ear, his words penetrating deeply. He’s too big, I can’t move him. Doesn’t stop me from squirming though.

  His hand runs along my sex, running around my clit. The stimulation is there, but my mind rejects it. “No!” I scream again and increase my struggles.

  “Spit for me again, Magdalena. You did so good the first time.” His angry growl penetrates me. His hand appears before me, his palm waiting for me to spit in it. “This is the only lubricant you’re getting so make it good.” He shoves my head again as if to remind me of his strength. I can barely breathe with him crushing me like his.

  “Please. No.” I suck in a breath when he lets up the pressure on my back, but it’s short-lived. “Don’t.”

  “Spit or suffer more. Your choice.” He nudges my chin with the edge of his hand.

  Thoughts spin through my mind. If I spit, I’m condoning this, I’m giving him permission. If I don’t, I’m going to make it harder, he’ll hurt me. This is what the lesson is all about, right? Giving into it, and accepting my fate?

  He growls, “Upryamaya devushka,” stubborn girl. He shoves me again and forces his hand into my mouth. Fingers encroach too far back, and I gag. Pushing his hand away doesn’t work, he’s not going to give up until he’s ready.

  His hand disappears, and his buckle is undone, his zipper rips down and he’s muttering to himself behind me. I can’t understand him, he’s talking too low, too fast.

  “Kristoff, no!” I push up again, but he just smashes me back down. If I struggle more, he’ll rip my hair out. Switching gears, I rear my ass back at him, then start to kick my legs out.

  But he doesn’t care. Compared to him, I’m a rag doll.

  The tip of his cock penetrates me, and I scream. A long, throat splitting scream as he slowly slips into my body. Too big, I’m too small. I scramble again on the bed, needing to get away, to get him out of me.

  He tightens his hold on my hair and has my hip in his other hand, his nails digging into my ass.

  “Stop!” I scream, but he retracts only enough to push back in again. The pain blinds me, and I cry out more. Swinging my hands behind me, I only make contact briefly with his arm, or was it his chest. I can’t see, and I can only focus on the burn of his cock stretching me from within.

  “No!” I yell again.

  He’s not saying anything. He’s not even responding to my struggles. His cock continues to thrust into me over and over again and I cry. Tears pour down my cheeks, soaking the bed beneath me.

  “Get off me!” I burst into a new battle cry and flail beneath him, but my strength is getting less as he continues to pump himself into me. If I was facing him, I could claw at his face, but he’s behind me. Fucking me like a dog, my face pushed down and my ass high up for him.

  “Fuck.” I hear him, and he releases my hair to hold my hips with both hands.

  Bucking up, I try to get away, but he shoves a finger, maybe it’s his thumb, into my ass and I scream again. My throat is on fire, but I keep screaming for him to stop. He’s turned a deaf ear to me.

  “Keep fighting me, and this will be the hole I fuck next.” He wiggles his finger inside my asshole. It’s not very deep, just barely penetrating me, but it’s enough to send a new tremor of fear through me.

  “Stop. Please,” I beg, but it’s too late. He’s already fucking me. He’s already inside and taking what he thinks is his.

  He’s grunting with each thrust. My hips are going to bruise from the force that he’s holding me. Pushing up doesn’t work anymore, my arms are jellified.

  My screams fade to sobs, and I’m left crying into the mattress having lost all that bravado I had when I spit in his face. Only moments ago, but it feels so far away.

  The fight hasn’t left me, not even with the looming threat of his finger. I can’t just let this happen. There’s more to me than this.

  I kick my legs back and try to throw my weight to the left. A sad attempt to throw him off me, and it fails miserably.

  “Damn you,” he says softly. He pulls my ass cheeks apart, wide, so wide it feels like my skin will tear. “Stubborn, so fucking stubborn.” His words are accusing. Like what he’s doing is my fault. Like I brought this on myself.

  Maybe I can get to his face if I turn my torso again. But my thought of attack is frozen in my mind when his cock pulls out of my cunt and rips past my anal ring.

  He’s in my ass.

  Shock takes over first, then the burn, the pain.

  I scream, louder than before. All sense of fight recedes as my mind can only concentrate on the blinding pain in my ass. He’s not gentle. Not relenting. He’s a man on a mission. To make me submit to his punishment.

  Another thrust, more pain-sharp, unyielding, and he stills. My hands fist the bedding beneath me as he releases his cum into me, filling me. A new pain spreads through me, filling my chest. Rage. Pure raw rage, tampered with the idea that he’s still on top of me.

  Insults, rants, threats all burn my tongue wanting to escape and fling at him, but I hold back. I bury my face into the covers, humiliated, worn out, used - fucked.

  He slips out of me, stands up and rezips his jeans. “Get up.” He smacks my ass. “Stand up now,” he orders in that steel voice of his.

  I want to tell him to fuck off again, but I think I’ve learned his punishment. He’ll just make me. He’ll always make me.

  My feet find the floor and I manage to push myself to stand on shaky legs. I can’t see him well with my hair mangled in front of my face, but that’s fine. Looking at him will make me vomit.

  “You will remain naked at all times.” He pushes my hair away from my face with a gentleness he did not afford me only moments before. “Do you understand me?”

  I nod.

  “Words, Magdalena. Always words,” he corrects me, but the steel has softened.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?” he asks, and I chance to look up at him. Tears still linger on my lids, making his features blurry but I can see the wrinkled brow, the tense lips. He’s still teaching me.

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper, not getting one ounce the satisfaction I’ve gotten in the past at using the phrase.

  “Clean yourself up. I’ll have dinner sent up for you.” He looks me over with a blank expression. He’s hiding from me. Lucky him.

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper and go back to looking at the floor. A drop of blood splatters at my feet, soaking into the carpet. It’s mine. I’m bleeding.

  When a tear drips from my cheek and mingles with the crimson red droplets, I suck back a sob. I underestimated him. I forgot who he is, what he is.

  Why won’t he leave, why is he still standing in front of me? I chanced another glance, expecting to find a smug asshole glaring down at me.

  “I’ll be back,” he says and heads for the door. “I expect you to eat everything on your dinner tray.” He throws the dictate over his shoulder but doesn’t even look at me. It’s like he doesn’t want to see me any more than I want to see him.

  Once the door is closed and I’m alone again, my legs stop pretending to work and I sink to the floor. His cum is slipping out of me, mixed with my blood, but I don’t care how messy it is.

  The sobs come hard and fast now. No sense in trying to rein them in. Curling up with my knees pressed to my chest, I hug them and lean against the bed.

  Accept my position, accept my situation.

  That’s what he wants.

  If this is my new life, I’d rather not have any at all.

  7

  Tricia ignores me as I stomp around the kitchen. She knows enough to back off when needed. And right now - it’s needed.

 
“Where the fuck are all the apples?” I yell, slamming the refrigerator door. I like them cold. She knows this.

  “We gave the last one to the new girl, this morning,” she reminds me in her soft-spoken way. She’s been under my father’s control for too long; she doesn’t even flinch when I slam my fist onto the counter near where she’s working on chopping onions. Sometimes my father makes her cook for him. And since the usual kitchen staff isn’t around, I assume he’s put her on KP duty for the night.

  I need a tray of food brought up to Magdalena, but I don’t want to put that on Tricia since it looks like my father has put her to work. Taking her away from the duties he gave her could end up with her strapped up on the wall and taking a caning from him.

  “Where’s Samantha?” I demand.

  “She’s been given to Matvei for the evening,” Tricia says, but a drop of bitterness is laced in her tone. Not because she envies Samantha, but because she knows there’s nothing she can do to stop it. If my father’s given her to Matvei for the night, she’ll be out of sight for a full day or two until she’s able to move around enough to work.

  I clench my teeth. “Why?”

  She lifts a shoulder in a dainty shrug. “To make up for what you did to him.” My father speaks freely in front of her, which works in my favor more times than not. But she doesn’t glance at me when she tells me this news, knowing it won’t make me happy. Giving that asshole a reward after I beat him down for touching what’s mine doesn’t exactly show my father backs my decisions.

  “Fine. Get someone to help in here then. I need a tray of food brought up to my room. Pasta, something comforting - and a dessert.” I drag my fingers through my hair. I need to get in a fucking shower.

  Tricia stops chopping and looks sideways at me. “Is there something else I can give her?” The question is quiet, and she knows asking is a risk.

  I nod. “Yeah. Give her three ibuprofen tablets and a glass of wine - red.” She’ll still hurt, but at least it will buffer the pain. “And get the carpet cleaned up there too.”