Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“You wait for something?” Pyotr asked, his voice mocking. “Master is waiting.”
I let out my breath forcefully through my nostrils, hoping and fearing at the same time that the butler would perceive it as the snort of defiance I meant. Once again in danger of raising my eyes, I made my feet turn and start to move toward the hall that led to Ivan’s study.
“Stop,” Pyotr said from behind me, just as I had almost reached the entrance to the corridor. I froze, closing my eyes as a wave of anxiety went through me. I knew why the man had stopped me, because he had done it before. “I want good look at that bottom.”
I heard the butler’s shoes move across the foyer’s marble floor to stand behind me. I felt his hand take hold of my ass lightly, fingers tracing the welts from my birching at Feodorov Devushkin’s palace. This, too, Ivan had authorized Pyotr to do, to keep me in my place.
I bit my lip hard as the butler pressed his middle finger between the whipped globes, until it pushed against the terribly sore little ring where my master’s friend’s friend had used me so roughly.
“Da, slut,” the butler said in a soft, menacing voice, “you get it here tonight, da? This is place men like to fuck slut like you, da?”
I squeezed my eyes shut more tightly as the waves of heat seemed to travel all over my body. I grasped at the shreds of my scant memories from my all-too-brief training for this mission, seeking a way to keep some small piece of composure.
My trainer had informed me without any apparent regret that if the Guard gave me too much information or made me into too polished a sexual servant, not only would Ivan quite possibly suspect me of being a mole but—much more important from the Guard’s perspective—he wouldn’t find me as irresistible as my trainer intended me to be.
Your innocence, the man in the mask had told me, as I lay for all intents and purposes paralyzed over the whipping horse in the tiny cell to which he had walked me after getting out of the van, represents the most important of the commodities we’re going to sell to the man whose family destroyed yours.
I felt my brow working in distress as the butler’s finger pushed harder against the sore little ring between my whipped cheeks, and squeezed firmly, to make me whimper.
Not his family, I thought back furiously, at the hooded man in my memory from months ago. And even if Boris Klimatov had been Ivan’s grandfather, Ivan would still be his own person. Ivan… I think maybe Ivan loves me.
The trainer in my head, half actual memory and half my own imagination, responded, speaking words the real man had never said.
But your master put you in his butler’s power, didn’t he? What a tender, loving thing to do!
The awful finger pushed into my anus. My cheeks blazed as I felt how slippery the tip had become, with the semen the unnamed friend of Devushkin had left as a shameful reminder of his enjoyment.
“Da, slut?” Pyotr growled into my ear. “This is where you should be fucked?”
“Yes, sir,” I managed to whisper, hating him and hating myself even more for the way this utter degradation could make me pulse in acquiescent need, deep inside where I suddenly wanted my master’s hardness so much that I almost cried out.
I found it in my mind, the few sentences I clung to, that I had actually heard during my training, such as it was.
You will struggle with the way they make you feel: not just Antonov, not even mostly Antonov, but the people around him. Accept that struggle. Live it. The struggle itself will seduce them, so do your best to feel grateful for it, because it’s going to let you complete your mission.
I let out a sob as the butler’s finger penetrated me further.
“When Master gets tired of you,” he said, his voice so contemptuous it made my heart jump, “he will give you to me, and I will fuck you here.”
Please, I thought, trying to find some tiny victory amid the struggle I felt I was always in the process of losing. Please don’t make me speak again.
“You will like that, da, slut?”
He sank the awful finger in and moved it back and forth a little, as if he meant to twist a knife he had stabbed me with, asking it as a humiliating question. To my horror, I couldn’t help moving my hips just a millimeter backwards, seeking despite myself the shameful, forbidden pleasure in which Ivan had educated me with such brutal but painstaking dominance.
It had happened that way, I knew from the housemaid. When Ivan had tired of his previous concubines they had found their way into the beds of his minions—not Pyotr, as far as I knew, but others of the criminal thugs who represented Ivan’s private army: bodyguards and drivers and the like.