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“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.
Not me, I told myself, trying anew to live the struggle and to feel some tiny measure of gratitude for it. At least I could feel sure that if and when Ivan did tire of me I would also be of no use to the Pretorian Guard and they would extract me so that I couldn’t reveal even the little I knew.
But of course I really meant that at least a part of my mind couldn’t help believing, despite so much evidence to the contrary, that I was different. That Ivan might well love me in a way he hadn’t loved the others.
I took a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth. Maybe the only other thing worth remembering from my ‘training.’
“Yes, sir,” I said. I did my best to keep my voice meek. “May I go to my master now?”
I could have said it as a threat, of course—implied that I would tell Ivan that Pyotr had detained me. No use in that, though: better to let Pyotr wonder whether I had meant it. Better to keep playing innocent and unintelligent and submissive even to the servants.
He gave my backside one final squeeze, and I didn’t have to feign the whimpering cry of pain that burst from my chest at the reminder of the birch’s awful work on my ass-cheeks.
“Go and give him the pleasure he paid so much for, slut,” the butler said scornfully. “But remember that my cock gets just as hard as the master’s does, and I can fuck your ass just as hard, too.”
CHAPTER7
Ivan
I watched Heather enter the study, her eyes properly cast down to the carpet. I had known they would rip her lingerie off—Feodorov considered it an indispensable part of enjoying a girl that way—but I still found that the sight of Heather’s nudity moved me more than I would have cared to admit.
I had listened to the clicking of the white heels that represented her only clothing on the bare wood of the hallway and my heart had quickened its beating in my chest. Her arrival, naked, in my study… the sweet, lovely pinkness of her bare, girlish body in such striking contrast to the civilization of the dark oak, the old books, the roaring fire on the hearth… the pang of jealousy in my chest at the thought of what I had sent her to undergo…
You’re in love, Ivan, said the voice in my head that seemed to know only those words lately.
“Come here and show me your bottom, girl,” I said, doing my best to make my voice sound casual and dismissive. “Mr. Devushkin whipped you?”
“Yes, sir,” Heather replied, her brow furrowing as she walked toward me.
“You were fucked as well?” I asked, trying to force even more casualness into my tone.
She arrived in front of me. I sat in my easy chair, a lavish leather-covered Chippendale reconstruction. I had my red dressing gown on, and as Heather took her familiar position in front of me I unfastened the belt and opened the front of the garment.
I had my eyes trained on the beautiful girl’s face. My heart gave a little leap as I watched her hazel eyes travel upward from my feet to rest where I had trained her to put them, on my hardening cock. Red suffused Heather’s cheeks just as it had the very first time she had stood here and seen how massive the manly hardness was that she would have to receive inside her virginal body.
The song of my dominant blood in my ears at her obedience held such familiarity for me by this time that a part of me sought to deny its power. A resistance had grown in me over the past few days, to the notion that I found Heather’s service so very captivating.
No, Ivan… not only her service… not just her service… her… Heather… the wonderful girl herself,said the other voice, the voice of love.
I knew I should have ceased to find the girl so arousing. I had owned two previous concubines and I had begun to tire of each of them within three months. Heather Foster only aroused me more the longer her service went on.
