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If Anatoly was surprised to see me return, still naked and bearing on my cheeks the marks of two hard slaps Ivan had given me to make things convincing, he didn’t show it.
“Belkonov’s,” Ivan told the driver shortly. Then he spoke in English.
“You get on your knees, whore, with your face on the floor and your ass in the air. You’ll learn to behave yourself with your new master. That starts with learning your place. I think I need to show Boris how to treat you if he wants to get the most pleasure from your holes before he kills you.”
My heart pounding, I pressed my cheek against the carpet of the limo’s passenger compartment, feeling against my bruised skin some of the grit left by Ivan’s shoes. They cleaned the car thoroughly every night, so the floor wasn’t filthy, but the little bit of dirt was enough to make me feel utterly degraded. Ivan added to the humiliation, too: for the rest of the ten-minute journey to Belkonov’s palace he toyed with my bottom and my pussy, his thumb and forefinger moving up and down the exposed cleft between my thighs and ass-cheeks.
The limo pulled into a portico. The door opened immediately—much faster than Anatoly could have gotten to it.
“Ivan,” I heard Belkonov’s voice boom, “what have you brought me? Look at that ass—what did you whip her with? I thought we were going to have a serious problem after this morning.”
“Eh,” my master said. “I took it out on this little slut. Then I decided to make it up to you. Let’s take her inside and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. You have a nice little dungeon, I hear?”
“Of course, Ivan,” the horrible man said. “We’re going to have her together?”
I felt my cheeks blaze with shame. Bent over with my terribly marked bottom and my all-too-needy pussy offered to my master’s enemy, I felt like nothing but a piece of ass, literally a sexual object—valued, but only for the enjoyment to be had by thrusting hard cocks inside the most private places of my body.
“We are,” Ivan confirmed, as he started to get out of the limo. “Here, take this. It’s the device that controls the whore’s behavior. Just touch her back with it and press the button there, and give her an order.”
A gust of wind blowing through the portico swirled into the open door of the limo. I shivered violently at the feeling.
“Ah, I heard you had something like that!” Belkonov said delightedly.
I felt the tip of the wand, and the very slight jolt that came with the pressing of the button. Belkonov spoke in dismissive, heavily accented English.
“Come with us, little fuck toy.”
As I started to move, he yelled to a servant somewhere inside the door, “Bring a coat for this whore.”
“No,” Ivan said sharply. “It’s better to keep her naked. She’s used to it, and she needs to stay that way.”
I climbed out of the car. I had no desire to disobey; the dangerous plan on which Ivan and the Guardsman had agreed in the last few seconds before my master had led me back to the limo called for my obedience to Belkonov for the moment, anyway.
With my arms instinctively around my body to try to keep me just that little bit warmer, I stood on the freezing landing at the bottom of a grand set of steps leading up to the even grander double doors of the mansion. I had never felt so naked; Ivan had never exposed me that way before.
Always when he had sent me to service his friends and colleagues before, he had made sure to cover my nudity in the big warm coat. Always my gospodin had given explicit instructions that those gifted with my shameful services must wait to uncover my degraded body until they had me in the room where they meant to use me.
Here in the portico of Belkonov’s palace I stood naked but for my heels before my master and his treacherous lieutenant. I tried to remember that this represented a plan… a path to safety for Ivan and for me. The cold and the mortification refused to allow any positive thought to rise in my mind. I felt my face crumple into a pout of distress, and I shuddered violently even more with shame than with the chill.
My eyes, drawn by the anxiety roiling in the pit of my stomach, rose to Belkonov’s face in the long moment of silence that had descended. I knew they were inspecting me, enjoying the pleasure of looking at a beautiful young woman, degraded and naked. I knew I mustn’t look them in the eye and yet I had to.
The man didn’t have the drop-dead good looks Ivan did, but to my dismay Belkonov wasn’t really unattractive. Jet-black hair and coal-black eyes in a rugged face and a fit, muscular body. As elegantly dressed as my master in a dark suit and a crisp white shirt without a tie—and yet, in that European way, looking even more put together with his collar loose than a stuffy American would in a silk tie.
