Chapter Text
Spring had almost ripened into summer, though to me it always felt decidedly cool out. It would never be warm here I was resigned. The windows were open, and no one seemed to notice the chill air but I as it pushed aside the rent gauzy curtains. However, it was better than the stifling cigarette smoke we had suffered to breathe all winter and early spring. It was one of the rare evenings when Mick was not at his shop. Mondays were often slow.
The two men were seated in front of the television, neither man really paying it much heed. I had just brought in a round of drinks, Master should not have been drinking on a Monday night, but there were many things he shouldn’t do. This was comparably tame alongside some of them. I could not help but pick up on the tangent of the conversation.
“Her name is Alina, she’s not interested in me but she would be all over you. She’s Romanian, a run away, can’t be more than fifteen and she says she’s a pain pig. Interested?” I saw Master’s inherent interest leap like a flame to dry grass on hearing his friend"s announcement. He smiled, one of malevolent greed. “She comes to the shop, you should come down one of these nights and meet her?” Mick goaded, he didn’t have to try very hard. Master just nodded upending his glass, and I knew he would follow his friend"s advice. His sex life with me of late had been far from fulfilling.
She was shorter than I and thin, so terribly thin, dirty as well. I had been told by many I was too thin at her age, but I had nothing on her claim to emaciation. She was almost boyish with short tousled blue-black hair, anyone could see it was not her natural color. She had a heart-shaped face with soft brown eyes lined in heavy black kohl, reminiscent of a deer. That was the extent of her softness I could see, she was raised hard or had learned it well. She was young, very young, though she bore none of the childlike innocence I would have at her age. A child dressed as a woman, she hung on Master’s arm wavering on her platform heels, in her short black leather skirt, torn fishnets, and ill-fitting vinyl top that left nothing to the imagination. All I could think of was the inhabitants at the rear of Copenhagen station selling their bodies and souls. It made me sad.
He had taken the plunge and let her into our life mindless of the ramifications. An underage runaway girl whose history he had no idea of. The tiny girl"s possessions were few, they numbered but two shabby bags of mostly ill-fitting, smoke-tainted fetish wear which she had no issue hanging in his closet. She was all over him in a shameless display of wanton desire. Was it desire, or was it she needed the shelter he offered and she would do anything he asked not to spend another night on the streets. Was this how he had fostered Gabrielle into the bounds of slavery? I am sure as I watched them, yes this was how it was.
It seemed of no consequence to her I was naked and Mick did not hide what Tubby was to him. It did not bother her in the least. I think she had already decided she was above it all and Master was more interested in her than us. I met Tubby’s eyes on one occasion I could see she too was observing with much seriousness this girl child who was willingly going to be sacrificed. Alina sat between them, so diminutive and dark alongside the golden muscular bulk of Master. She smoked Mick’s cigarettes and drank from Master’s endless glass. I just sat on the sidelines hurting, confused and transfixed.
The conversation did not take very long to become predatory and most sexual in nature. Alina had no issue matching these men, at least their in dirty sexual desires in words, and I wondered if she really understood the depth of the man she toyed with. He would eventually take her up on her bold challenge. Master questioned her about many things, all sexual in nature or BD/SM related. Could she take pain? What was the hardest thing she had ever done? Had she been a slave before? She alluded to him she had tried many things, even showing him a brand on her thigh that she said her former Master had given her. Where was he now I wondered, did any man really let a slave go so easily?
Towards midnight I could see the restlessness eating at him, I had even noticed he had gone easy on the drinks. Alina of the streets had not, being a child of opportunity it had led her to drink too freely and she was more than just a little drunk, ripe for his hurt. He rose languidly from his place stretching lazily I heard his knuckles crack. I looked up at him, his jade eyes alighted on me, I could see him possessed of his glorious power, poised aching for the hurt he was about to give and the ecstasy it would deliver to him.
She went willingly with him to the basement, her tiny white hand in his. Trusting like a small child. I felt sickened, another lamb to the slaughter, no daughter of mine would suffer this, no, never.
Alina became my ‘sister slave’ though he never collared her formally, nor marked her as his own. That spoke volumes to me. He used her as a channel for all his unfulfilled darknesses, her slight body bore them all. The burns, the bruises, the cuts, and bloodletting, she took them all as though they were the most precious gifts and it was a sacred duty. She even made Tubby look squeamish when it came to pain tolerance. It was as though this wretched girl was so unloved, so undervalued this was the only way she could garner a man’s attention, and she used it for all it was worth. Master took it all, every last thing she had to give.
Master became obsessed with Alina, toying with her long hours nightly in the basement when he should have been resting after a hard day"s work. She sadly seemed to view his tortures as some kind of adoration, but what she did not realize and I did, was that the more he hurt her and the more she bent for him the further into an object of derision she slipped. He took her papers and literally enslaved her overnight, she was not even fifteen it was discovered, but fourteen. Master cared not, she was a discarded child and he felt no one would come looking for her. She did not protest, and I believe she was confident she could given time persuade him away from her rival, me.
Alina was never pleasant toward me. I tried to be kind but she behaved like a girl who had been raised on the streets and knew no better. I pitied her and avoided her to the best of my ability in this tiny home where we all lived in such close quarters. The ever-placid Tubby did as well. Most nights Master would cage her in the cell in the basement. I was glad of this even though it seemed cruel. How she slept there I did not fathom, but I guess sleeping on the streets would have been even more difficult. She had nothing but a drug habit to her name, and Mick fed her addiction. Both men used her, Master had just been the handsome lure to trap her into serving them both.
It was a Wednesday evening in my simple and repetitive domestic life. I was surprised I had even known which day it was. One being much like the next and rolling into the other in an endless stream of sameness. Not that I minded this, excitement in our house usually was something not to be relished. The day had been beautiful, sunny, and calm the kind of postcard perfection, but as always only lukewarm to me. It never felt like summer truly arrived in this cold land. I chuckled when all those about me complained of the heat. I waited for its warmth every year, and summer left before I felt it had even arrived. The land of winter I had dubbed it, and no one seemed affected by the almost ever-present chill but I.
I had as was my usual habit at this hour, been cleaning up the dinner leavings. Master had returned from work and freed Alina from her prison below where she would languish in his absence. I never heard a complaint from her she seemed to accept this imprisonment as part of the ‘game’ she was playing, for I am sure that is what she thought it was. Some deviant sexual game designed to please him. I had served him while he sat before the news on the television, Alina in his lap. She cast me dark-eyed looks of derision making no secret of her hatred for me. I did not hate her but I did pity her immensely, she could not see what she really was to him. Would she ever see it and if she did what would it do to the fabric of her being? How many times could one be discarded in this life and still maintain self-worth?
He had eaten swiftly, in his usual coarse utensil-less style, with grease, and gravy in his hair. He fed her from his hand, her tongue lingering on and between his fingers in a provocative enticement. I looked away, she was looking at me, and he was oblivious to us both. Emerald eyes fixed on the evening news, riots, war, and elections. It was nothing new or anything I really found uplifting. The human condition I felt was for the most part a miserable one, interspersed by the occasional brilliance and undaunted spirit. I guess we all lived in hopes of one such moment, I know I did, and possibly even a run away like Alina did as well.
I brought him his drink tonight he had not requested coffee, how he got drunk and still could rise at dawn to attend work I never knew. He made me wait holding the bottle and the glass, as he lingered toying with his fingers between Alina’s lips and teeth.
“Why can’t you be such a dirty girl Myra, like little Alina here?” He said lustfully as he looked at me. I had no answer to give for I could not be her. “You act like I stole you from a convent.” He laughed, a primitive guttural sound, and looked back at her perched in his lap. She was tiny and white against his bronzed magnificence. Alina was kissing his golden-haired chest and licking and sucking on his nipples, her tongue caressing his neck and bulging trapezoid muscles of his shoulders beneath his thick saffron mane. “Pour me a drink,” he commanded. I did and hoped he would dismiss me to my duties elsewhere. I was not jealous, it had never been my nature to be so. I knew him well his sexual appetite was so unbounded no one woman could please him. I allowed him this as he allowed me to retreat from the world.
I had learned the painful way never to believe I had been dismissed until I heard his words to that effect. However tonight I so wanted to leave. He said no more to me. I merely stood holding the bottle of schnapps and his empty glass as he returned to the girl child astride his immense thighs. She was licking his unshaven chin, tasting him and the remnants of his dinner. I had tried to be this way with him but it had never seemed natural or appropriate, I had never been able to truly let go in his presence. I thought guiltily back to the interlude with his brother in the great bathtub in Arhus. I had tasted that feeling then and the freedom and damnation of it. I had let go of my frigidity, my sense of moral fortitude, and abandoned it for lust. Svend had shown me that, and I had never forgotten, yet I could not do it with this man my Master.
He did not return Alina’s advances or hot caresses, he merely sat like a king seeking the supplication and adoration of a subject. My eyes glanced to the floor, but my ears could not turn off to the shameless display of female wantonness. “I think you should watch Myra and learn.” He suddenly said. He had not even looked in my direction he knew me all too well. “Come kneel before me so I can see you.” I did as he instructed, not at all enjoying the view I was presented with of Alina’s pale backside and dripping shaved femininity. However, I steeled myself and looked through them both pushing myself to that place I had learned to reach in moments of vast shame and difficulty.
Alina spent herself on him, showering him with her tactile gifts. I sat still and stoic-faced, and he did also. He was aroused I knew, yet he made no move to satisfy it. He was looking at me, not her, and his eyes were vital and fierce. This silent tableau went on for quite some time, I had much difficulty engaging his arresting gaze, but I did so out of the fear that I may incite him to progress to something more depraved.
He had put his fingers in her, not just one but many into her gaping wetness. Alina had reached the point where she was like a feline in heat. Immune to all but satiety of burning desire which he would not grant. She was making little inhuman begging sounds, and all he was doing was inflaming her all the more. He brushed her from his lap and stood as though she were a mere insect, she sat on the carpet looking up at him piteously. He only had eyes for me, I felt self-conscious and afraid. He was so tall above me, that he slowly removed his belt that girded his great waist, it slipped to the floor with the sinuousness of a snake, and stepped out of his dusty work pants. He never wore underwear beneath them. I could not tear my eyes from his captivating gaze. Alina may have been present but in reality, it was just he and I.
“You want it slut?” He looked at her his runaway child as she sat at his feet, waiting, expectant, in heat. At fourteen I had not been remotely like her, I was shy reserved, and afraid. To my surprise he got down on all fours, he smiled across at me wickedly his teeth flashed even and white. His canines catching on his lower lip he looked like a vicious predator. “You know what to do to get it girl.” To my disbelief, Alina with no hesitation buried her face in his rear. It was a repugnant act to me, he saw my distaste and chuckled at my difficulty. He was plainly enjoying the sensation, I just felt ill. His eyes were closed, and he was hard, his organ sticking up under his belly. Just like the night Birgitte had him leashed on the floor. I felt my baby move at this inopportune moment, bringing me back to pressing realities. I could not imagine this behavior being so open with the presence of a child in our lives. Darkly I knew he would not change his ways for anyone.
“Go to the basement.” Alina stopped what she was doing and looked at him, clearly upset at his order. He had after all promised her more. However, she did not tarry but slunk darkly away. He tossed his golden tresses in an arrogant shrug but did not rise from his position on the stained carpet. “Your turn Myra,” he invited seductively. I shrunk to the floor face pressed to the carpet. My silent signal of distress. No, he could not make me perform this act of a filthy animal. He merely laughed. “You have no idea of pleasure, you are a frigid cold little girl. I tire of it and your ways Myra. NOW DO IT!” I jumped at his roar of disapproval, cringing at the idea of what he wanted me to do. It was a dirty repulsive act to me, my thoughts on it could be naught else. “That’s right Myra its not hard is it?” He coaxed, voice laden with dripping sarcasm as I pressed my face to a place I felt it had no business to be in. He was still wet with her saliva, I was overcome with the desire to wretch. “Good girl,” he encouraged as he felt the first hesitant traces of my tongue. If I had balked at his unwashed manhood in my mouth this was one-hundred times worse. The earthy smell and taste of him combined with her saliva was too much for my delicate disposition, the floor reeled and my dinner vaulted from my stomach to the carpet.
The game was over at least for the time being, he stood regarding me as I sat wretchedly in the pool of my own warm vomit. It was in my hair and on my hands and thighs. I could not look at him instead fixing my eyes at his feet, I expected him to hit me. Mercifully he did not choose to. “Clean that up and run me a bath.” That was all he said over the incident.
The bath was most welcome though we both barely fit in the tub. The tiles were slick on the floor as each movement overflowed the bath water, waves against a levee breaking over its sides to descend into the awaiting floor drain. He took his time bathing this evening, washing the traces of vomit from my hair, he was gentle and not altogether unkind. My mind was still on what he had just forced me to do it seemed so dirty and depraved. I had this compulsive desire to wash my face over and over, to scrub it hard as though it would never again feel clean. He smiled across at me amused at my distress, I felt as though I was dirt, less than others, and could not lift my eyes to gaze equally on anyone again. “Don’t be ashamed,” he said as though reading my mind. I often wondered if he did not possess that capacity, or was I just so transparent before him. “Its really no big deal, and very pleasurable. You need to let go Myra, a slave has no conscience, she is merely what her master wishes her to be.” I had no words to answer, there was nothing I could say to make it feel any better in my own mind. So I sat on his lap and let him wash my hair.
He had let his passions subside, though I am sure my adverse reaction earlier had not enhanced his desire. We dried off and he called me to the bedroom. I went to him and lay under his muscled arm my head on his breast listening to his heart, golden chest fur tickling my nose. The curtains were drawn and even though the day had been fair the windows were closed. The room was only illuminated by the light from the bedside lamp, a diffuse warm yellow glow from the single incandescent bulb made the dark room feel like a cave. I closed my eyes I felt empty and a little sore, but much better. He called her from the basement and the moment of security and happiness was abolished. Alina’s light barefoot steps came to me as she ascended the wooden rungs of the stairs and crossed the carpet. She climbed into the bed mirroring my own position on his right side.
I noted he liked to keep her there, and I wondered did he register his difficulty with his left-sided awareness more than I had assumed. He did not trust her and neither did I. She looked across his broad torso at me, it was an open look of hatefulness. I averted my eyes. He saw it surprising us both, striking her with a stinging slap to the face with cat-like swiftness. He had the capacity to go from immobility to ferocity in the space of a heartbeat. “Be nice.” He said and returned to his relaxed, reclining stillness of before. Alina’s cheek was red where he had struck her, and her dark eyes glistened in the yellowish light, were her tears sincere or feigned?
He filled the bed, he really needed a king-size one but we did not have the money for such an indulgence. His feet were at the very end of it almost hanging over. His body hot next to mine. Fortunately, I was small and he never slept with her, however of late I had not been as comfortable as the baby grew. Sleeping was becoming difficult and not helped by the fact he took up most of the bed forcing me to try to get comfortable pressed right to either side of it. However, he did not consider my discomfort nor did he remedy it or even comment on it. I knew better than to complain.
The two of us smelled of soap from our recent bath, Alina made even more repugnant by our cleanliness. It seemed not to bother him, but it was off-putting to me. He lay for a time eyes half closed she was touching him trying her best to incite his lusts anew with her nimble fingers. She was only half succeeding and he was enjoying her frustration, Alina had no idea of the extent of his control. He rose from the bed indicating we should both stay just as we were, he went to the kitchen and returned with a chair which he placed at the foot of the bed. He sat resuming his drinking whilst observing us both.
“Every man’s fantasy.” He purred as he drank the shot in a single gulp, refilling it with yet another. I did not wish to be anywhere near Alina and hugged the extreme side of the bed, my eyes on him. I already knew what he wanted and he would suffer no refusal. I wanted to run to him, cry, plead, and beg. Anything for an out.
He saw it in me, he loved this more than anything almost. He just smiled his eyes blazing in the dim light as he took another drink of the clear firewater. “Be nice to little Myra girl, show her what you can do with those skilled lips and tongue of yours. Help her to let go.” I looked at him, horror washing over my features. Alina did not hesitate, she was touching me intimately in seconds. He sat back and fed on my tears while drinking the rest of the bottle, appearing the most satisfied man in the world while her tongue did the things to me usually reserved for him.
It was too much I cried and Alina laughed spitefully. Master did not move. I dared to glance at him, he was hard now as he leaned back on the chair. I writhed and tried to evade her mouth which was eliciting overwhelming pleasures from my body against my will, and boldly defying the basis of my sexuality. I realized somewhere in my swimming, pleasure-bound agony he was now standing above us looking down at me. Ever so lightly touching my face with the back of his hand. In the golden light, he was golden too, and in that confused moment as I hovered between ecstasy and loathing I believed he looked on me with love. My tears on seeing this rose anew. He stooped over me, I was veiled in his thick long hair. His lips brushed mine and transformed into a deeper surrendering kiss. I put my arms around his great neck forgetting Alina altogether. I drank him in. His tongue invaded my mouth and I came strongly, arching and breathless under him. He had pushed the girl carelessly aside as he sought me and completely forgetting his ‘son’ he used me savagely holding nothing back. He found his release in mere moments, embracing me so tightly it hurt.
Alina sat on the floor quite forgotten, a spectator to his fierce love. “Very good my little one,” he praised tenderly between each ragged breath. “You are learning to give yourself over to pleasure. I like that, I like it a lot.” He was heavy on me and he did not move for the longest of moments. Finally sensing my discomfort he gave me relief, laying off to one side. “Next time perhaps you can learn what it is to give a woman such joy.” I cringed, fortunately, he mistook it for my breathless rapture. I would not touch her in that way, I could not. I now had a new dread to plague my world, for I knew he would collect on what he said. He always did.