30. Katerina
CHAPTER 30
Katerina
“Come.”
I’m collected from the bird cage like a pet being taken by its owner. Borys pulls me out of the cage and then drags me along with him by the wrist.
I’m in a daze as I’m taken backstage.
The raucous sounds of the theater fade away, replaced by the unnerving static in my ears.
The same three words pierce the fog that’s become my thoughts.
I’ve been sold.
I’ve been sold.
I’ve… been sold.
It’s unlike the fear I’d felt when Roman took me captive. The Russian Bear was intimidating and terrifying, but some part of me always sensed I wasn’t going to actually be harmed. Some part of me knew that I’d make it out in one piece.
But this… I’m not so sure.
Borys takes me down a hall I’ve never been. Dimly lit with golden sconces and lined by obsidian black doors, I’m dragged toward the third to the last on the left.
“In here,” he grunts. “Your customer will be here soon.”
He shoves me into the room and then slams shut the door.
Panic explodes from within.
I go from stunned silence to scanning the room with hysteria vibrating in my bones. I rush toward the door and pull and tug on the doorknob.
Locked from the outside.
There are no windows. No other doors.
Not even any air vents.
Almost as if designed for no prospect of escape at all.
My heart rabbits in my chest as I spin around and desperately search for some alternative. Some other glimmer of hope among what feels like a dark sea swallowing me up. The only thing I can come up with is making a weapon to defend myself.
But what could I possibly use?
The room is set up as a bedroom.
There’s a large bed in the middle with nightstands on either side and a three-panel room divider in the corner. An armchair and fireplace are on the other end, the flames already burning behind the metal gate.
I notice a glass of some kind of clear liquid resting on the mantel next to the armchair, almost as if by request.
I pad over to take a sniff, checking if it’s water or something else.
Vodka.
My stomach pits. I back away and then rush toward the bedside tables. Dragging the drawers open, I check inside for anything remotely sharp.
Anything I can use in self-defense.
The closest I find is a matching hairbrush and hair pin stowed inside the second drawer. I take the pin out but then remember I have nowhere to hide it.
I’m as good as naked.
I tuck it into the underside of the wig I’m wearing and pray it’ll stay in place.
The door flies open the next second and makes me jump. I hide my arms behind my back, dripping with suspicion, my heart finding a way to thud even faster.
It’s Borys again. He surveys me cockeyed, clearly suspecting I’m up to something.
“Sit on the bed,” he grunts. “He will want you there. Stop touching things.”
I swallow to find my voice has escaped me again. I wobble over to the bed, a dizzy spell washing over me that’s so intense it feels like I might pass out.
This can’t be happening to me. This can’t be real.
“Put this on,” Borys says, walking over what’s a satin eye mask. “He wants you to wear it at all times. If you think about taking it off, you will be punished badly. Understand?”
The fact that he’s added ‘badly’ onto the threat of punishment makes another wave of dizziness roll over me. I give a nod as he slips the eye mask over my head and takes away my sight.
“Please,” I murmur softly. My bottom lip trembles, I’m so shaken. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Silence. He will be here soon.”
I’m left to sit in silent darkness as the door snaps shut once Borys leaves. I almost rip the mask away and continue to search the room for any potential weapons. Then I realize it’s useless even trying. It’ll only backfire and it won’t be pretty.
You will be punished badly.
With no way to tell time, it’s difficult to say how many minutes pass before the door opens again and I’m joined by someone else. Every second I’m in wait, I’m on the verge of tears, praying a miracle will happen and Roman will show up and save the day.
He’ll find a way to come in at the last possible moment and stop this from happening.
But like with most things in my life, my wish doesn’t come true.
Roman doesn’t show up.
When the door next opens, it isn’t him. It isn’t even Borys returning to scold me some more. It’s a person who enters in eerie silence, his footsteps slow thuds on the wooden floorboards. I draw in a sharp breath and forget to release it, digging my nails into the microfiber material of the duvet.
I can hear him. Sense his presence.
Practically feel him taking up the air in the room.
What does he possibly want with me?
He’s stepped toward the armchair and sat down. Ice chinks against the glass of vodka that was waiting for him. He’s taking a sip, seemingly in no rush at all.
I begin to question if this is a new form of torture. Some kind of psychological torment where someone is made to believe they’re being sold to do perverse things and then are tested to see how far the situation can play out before they break.
A cold chill blows through me as minutes must pass and nothing.
And then, out of the silence comes his voice, spoken in a smooth Russian accent.
“Strip.”
One word that deals the final blow. The last chilling dose of reality that this is happening.
No one is coming.
Not even Roman.
It’s possible he’s forgotten about me already. He’s deemed it too risky to ever come for me. I was just some pet of his he was having a good time with.
My hands quake as silent tears slip from underneath my mask, rolling down my cheeks. I don’t bother uttering a word following his instructions. Just tug down the straps of my bra and then reach behind myself to unclasp it.
It’s my foster father all over again.
I’ll just have to stay quiet and do as I’m told like I did then. I’ll just have to shut up and get through it.
Never mind the psychological and emotional damage being done. Those are things I’ll have to deal with at a later time… if I’m ever able to sort through them at all.
Once my bra falls away, I hook my fingers under the waistband of my panties and lift my hips to shimmy them off. They slide pitifully down my legs into a pool of fabric on the ground.
I want so desperately to cover myself. Run and hide behind the room divider in the corner.
But I already know that, if I even try, it won’t end well.
The man takes another long sip of his drink.
He’s savoring this. He’s enjoying making me squirm.
My visual discomfort.
“Lay back,” he says, his voice strangely familiar. “Spread your legs.”
The sob I’ve been holding in bursts out of me. I bite down hard on my tongue and clamp my mouth shut to keep more from pouring out. Then I do as he says. I scoot back on the bed and lay down, parting my thighs. The heavy beat of my heart makes my chest ache. It makes it so difficult to breathe.
“I want you to pleasure yourself. Don’t be shy.”
The request is so specific, so intimate, that more tears roll down my cheeks.
I’d almost rather he take me now. Get it over with.
Anything instead of dragging the moment out like this. Making me pretend I’m feeling good.
“ Now ,” he adds when seconds go by and I remain stiff as a board.
My hand creeps between my thighs as if I’m unfamiliar with my own body. I’m not sure how to even start with such a twisted command that every movement becomes awkward and hesitant. If I can just pretend, then maybe he’ll be satisfied and I can stop.
My skin heats up for all the wrong reasons. Deep shame and humiliation anchor me to the bed as I touch my pussy and try to make it seem like I’m pleasuring myself.
None of it feels good. None of it even feels like my own touch.
I force a moan out to pretend that it does. Pretend I am enjoying doing this.
He gives no further direction as my fingers explore myself. He simply remains in the armchair and watches the show.
“Mmmm…” I hum again in a fake moan, hoping it sounds real.
Then I can fake an orgasm and pray he’ll leave me alone.
But as my fingers slide in and out of me and I pant and moan, it seems to fall flat.
He slams down his drink and the armchair creaks from his movement. He’s getting up. His footsteps thump on the wooden flooring as he makes it closer to the bed.
The mask intensifies the moment. All I have are the audible clues he gives me.
I freeze up, holding my breath. Hand still between my thighs, I’m not sure what to expect. My skin crawls at the possibility he’ll touch me instead.
“You are pretending,” he says, standing over the bed. He grabs my wrist and lifts my hand from between my thighs. “There will be no pretending.”
A gasp gets stuck in my throat as he replaces my hand with his.
I want so badly to shove his hand away, yet I find I can’t move. I’m paralyzed in place, forced to endure the slow sweep of his fingers along my folds.
His fingers on my clit.
The slow motions he begins, rubbing circles ’til tingly sensations follow.
No.
NO!
I catch my lip between my teeth to block out more frustrated cries. Tension clenches through me, leaving my body stiff as a frightened cat.
Yet there’s no stopping it.
The motions continue. They gather speed.
The tingles intensify. The sensations being inflicted on me spread.
He slides two fingers inside me and presses down on my clit with his thumb.
My body bows as the orgasm rises up despite my best efforts to squash it down. It reaches its peak and explodes from within.
A little weak tremor of pleasure that rocks through me.
That leaves me empty and numb immediately afterward.
He withdraws his fingers and then wipes the slick evidence on my lips. “Look how wet I made you.”
I roll onto my side away from him despite what may happen to me for disobeying. But he seems to be satisfied enough with the outcome of our time together.
His smooth baritone carries a note of humor with his next words. “This was good. The next time will be better.”
I’m busy silent crying as his footsteps tell me he’s leaving the room. The thuds continue until he’s at the door, drawing it open and snapping it shut.
My stomach roils. I could throw up, but I force myself not to. If I make a mess and Borys or Diana find out, I will suffer for it.
I have no choice but to stay where I am and wait to be collected. Mourn what’s just happened to me and find a way to accept that it seems this is my life now.
Roman’s not coming.
The next night as I’m dressed up in another sparkly bra and panty set, I can barely react when the stylist gives me a command. She shoves at me and snarls, “I said lift your foot! Do you think I’m getting on my knees for you?”
I blink out of my stupor and do as I’m told. She straps on the same pair of heels from last night and then pushes me toward the door.
“All ready. Borys will take you to the stage.”
Borys beckons me over with an impatient motion of his head. I trail after him, obedient and silent, keeping my gaze straight ahead and any opinions to myself.
I’ve spent every moment since last night disappearing into my imagination. Forcing myself to get used to the idea that what’s happening is outside of my control.
Just like when my family died. Just like when my foster home became a nightmare.
But this time it’s even worse.
I can’t even run away like before.
“Come,” Borys says, walking down the hall. “Tonight you will be helping serve customers. You have already been purchased for the end of the night activities. Your customer from last night enjoyed you and would like more time.”
The theater is even more crowded tonight.
Me and several of the other people being put up for sale are made to service the various tables spread through the theater room. They order drinks and hors d’oeuvres. They make obscene comments and gestures toward us and there’s nothing we can do about it.
One man slaps my ass as I turn away to retrieve the bottle he’s ordered. He goes red from laughing so hard and the woman who’s with him giggles.
“Here, hurry,” Borys grunts when I show up at the bar counter to collect his order. He shoves a tray of the bottle of bourbon and a pair of glasses at me and then shoos me off. “The show is starting in five minutes. Go, go!”
I turn listlessly to make the same trip back over to the man’s table. The layout of the theater room feels like a maze with so many zigs and zags navigating the tables. Even harder when in tall heels and a costume that leaves me exposed everywhere.
I’m only a few tables away when I spot something out of the corner of my eye.
Blue eyes that blaze like sapphires and that can belong to only one man.