Chapter 4
Chelsea
Pain.As I open my eyes, the first thing that assaults my senses is pain. Nothing I can't manage, but no one has ever left me this sore after a scene before. Heat engulfs my cheeks as memories assail my brain, giving me no room to hide from what happened. I can't believe that asshole pierced me! Sparks of arousal twist my insides as I remember his rough treatment of me. I never considered myself into pain, but the agony he delivered was exacting and delicious. My emotions war inside me as I try to make sense of everything. I hate Master Grigori. I hate everything he did to me, but I can't help but acknowledge how much he turned me on.
Even the fact that he forced me to swallow him down was hot in its own way - disgusting, but hot. No one else in The Society ever forced me to take their cum. When I spit it out after or switched to stroking with my hand, they never fought it; they never demanded it. Grigori, on the other hand, leaves no doubt that every inch of me is his to do with what he will. Nausea and regret intermingle as the memory of swallowing him down permeates my brain. Good girls don’t swallow. It’s a nasty thing only bad girls like to do. But then again, I guess I am one of the bad girls. Feeling him flowing down my throat shouldn’t have made me burn as hot as it did. Was it the cum or the man forcing it down my mouth, though?
Maybe in some ways, he was right. I can't picture Professor Richards ever scraping down to the depraved level of Master Grigori. The thought churns my gut as my white knight, my idol, starts to crack. I try desperately to hold on to the image of him as he put me through my paces, but nothing he did ever challenged me like Master Grigori. Even my traitorous clit throbs in protest as Master's Grigori's phantom touch burns my core. With each throb, I'm keenly aware of the piercing, and God help me, but it makes me even wetter.
Confusion muddles my brain. I've never wanted this. I've never needed this. Why now, after the few years I've been subjected to The Society, does my body decide to up the ante? What part of my brain could even dream up half the stuff he's done to me and then want more? Perhaps it's the novelty. Though I've mucked about with several different members, he's the first to actually force me to acknowledge the power he has over me. All the others that used me never expected or demanded anything from me more than the basic level of respect and groveling. Master Grigori wanted more. He wanted my soul to be intertwined with his in a way that terrified and aroused me.
Sighing, I close my eyes and skim my fingers down to investigate this new piece of jewelry. I pause at my mound and crack an eye open, scanning the room to make sure no one can see me enact this momentary defiance. Besides, there's no harm in touching as long as I don't get myself off, right? The room is dark, hosting shadows both real and imagined. Pulling my hand away, I scoop up the sheets from underneath me to cover myself as I walk towards the sliver of light at the opposite end of the room.
Ears pricked, I cocoon myself and pick my way across the floor, inching my toes out first to alert me to anything in my way. With every step, I imagine a sleep-roughened voice demanding me to come back to bed. With each step, nothing happens. My heart plummets as I near the light, my hand flailing out in front of me to catch myself if I fall. How stupid is it of me to actually think he'd sleep next to me? It's obvious I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough to sleep with. I shake my head, willing the hurt away. It's not like any of them sleep with their victims. We're nothing but holes to them, and that's all we'll ever be.
Upon reaching the supposed door, I fumble about, looking for a doorknob, sending out silent prayers of thanks when I grasp the cool metal in my hand. Inching it open, I half-expect to find a bathroom or something similar, but instead, there's a hallway. No one stands guarding my room, and a trickle of unease slithers down my spine. Is this a test to see if I'll leave? I look both left and right, my gut twisting as I contemplate my options. Where would I even go? I'm in the middle of nowhere with no way to contact anyone. Even if I make it down the hallway, who's to say what would meet me at the end? Opening the door wide, I use the light to help me find a switch.
The room floods with light, illuminating my new prison cell. As far as jails go, it could be much worse. A massive, four-poster bed dominates the room, with a smattering of other furniture lining the walls. Closing the door behind me, I make quick work of looking through each of them. Maybe they hold something useful. The first dresser has clothing of all types. Modest shirts and pants fill the spaces. I pull a set out, surprised to find that they're my size. When did Master Grigori have time to shop for me? Scoffing, I slip into the pants and search for a bra. Knowing him, he had some lackey do it. No way a man like Master Grigori would ever lower himself to see to the needs of his submissive.
The dresser over holds more bras than I would need in a lifetime, ranging from practical to racy. Smirking, I pluck out on that has an underwire for support, but no cups to hide my nipples. If I run into him on my mad dash, I'll need to find a way to distract him. Boobs seem to always do the trick with men. Sliding the buttery-soft shirt over my head, I squash down the guilt niggling at my thoughts. Nice clothes don’t make up for an asshole masquerading as a sexual liberator. As I shimmy into the shirt, my hips wiggle about, reminding me of the piercing. A fresh wave of arousal washes over me as I frantically look about for some shoes. Socks be damned. I need to escape and now.
Over near the nightstand next to the bed, I spy a pair of black shoes. They're the ones I wore at school. My heart skips a beat as I make my way over to the bed. Maybe my other things have been brought over as well. As I investigate the nightstand, I find my phone lying on top of hanks of rope. I grab my phone but pause long enough to run my fingers along the fibers. I've never engaged in rope play, seeing as most society members were more concerned about getting their dick wet instead of setting a scene, but it always fascinated me.
Pulling my hand back, I cast a wistful look at the tan coils. They were softer than I was expecting. Not quite as soft as cotton, but nowhere near as coarse as the rope Dad used to tie the boats up with. My heart stutters in my chest as I think about my family. Not that any of them actually cared what happened to me. They were probably grateful when I got that scholarship. That meant one less mouth to feed and one step closer to getting out of the prison that is parenthood. Rubbing the heel of my palm across my eyes, I open my phone, confirming that no one's been looking for me. No one cared where I was or what was happening to me.
I sit down on the bed and pull my knees up to my chest. What was even the point in running away? Knowing Master Grigori, he's got hired goons just as big and capable as Mr. Ivan at every corner. Rocking back and forth for a moment, I let my mind wander through all the possible scenarios. What's the worst that can happen? I don't think he can actually kill me, and after tonight, or rather last night, if the clock is indeed correct, it's clear his punishments will leave me sore and bruised but not broken. Then again, he could have still been holding back. A shiver rakes across my spine as I contemplate what could be worse than what I've already endured.
The twinge in my ass as I move about to get my shoes on reminds me of just how punishing he can be. I was never a fan of anal before, and now I simply despise it. Nothing about that act felt at all good. It was only tolerable because of how Master Grigori manhandled me. The inability to breathe can certainly shift your focus from massive discomfort to oh fuck I'm going to die. With my shoes tied tight, I stuff my phone in my pocket and creep out of the door. Still no one in sight. After a juvenile go at eeny, meeny, miny, moe, I set off to the right, holding my breath at every door I pass. With each passing moment, my lungs unlock just a bit more, allowing deeper, calmer breathes.
The hall starts to look a little familiar, but it isn't until I see the open door and hear a familiar voice that it clicks. Master Grigori's office! Fuck, how did I end up here? I whirl about, sussing out where I might have made a wrong turn. His low, rumbled tones sink into me, freezing me on the spot. He isn't speaking to me, but the harried urgency is enough to give me pause. On silent steps, I creep closer to the door, trying to make heads or tails of what's being said. It's a smattering of Russian and English; however, two things become crystal clear. This conversation involves a cousin, and he's very upset.
Sinking down into a sitting position, I hide in a shadowed area and listen closely, trying to pick up on anything that might be useful to me. I'm so deep into his conversation that I don't even notice the figure approaching me. It's not until something wet and damp touches my cheek that I realize I'm not alone. I ram my fist to my mouth, desperate to stay quiet. I don't want to be caught like this. Too late. The shaft of illumination gets larger, only to be cut off by Master Grigori's bulk. From the look of the shadow, he's still on his phone but keeps edging ever closer to me.
"Sasha!"
I freeze, finally looking next to me to see the dog from earlier. Her long face stares down at me in recrimination, and though I long to defend my actions, it still looks as if I haven't been discovered yet. She whines softly, her cold, wet nose bopping my cheek before she looking back at her master. After what sounds like muttered goodbyes, he puts the phone up and exits out into the main area. I huddle even deeper into the shadows created by the open door, pleading with whatever higher power that he doesn't see me.
Instead of looking in my direction, he simply kneels onto the floor and holds his palm out. For several heartbeats, I look at his hand, wondering if he's motioning for me. I lay my palms flat on the floor, willing myself not to move. I don't have to. After a few more moments, he puts a treat into his palm, and Sasha trots away from me, her tail swinging like a dinghy on rough waters.
"That's my good girl," he croons, scratching her behind the ears. "What got your attention, huh? Is it a mouse wandering these halls?"
He continues to speak to Sasha, ignoring me completely. This should make me feel safe, but instead, I feel more exposed than ever. When will he go back into his office? Sasha looks up at him with complete adoration. The blatant love in her gaze tears at my heart. How often have I longed to look at someone like that? To want to submit on my terms and not theirs? Sasha turns those large eyes on me, causing the breath to catch in my throat. Please, don't look at me. Look at him. Please be a good girl, I beg with my mind.
"Maybe it's a little bird flitting about in places she shouldn't be. Hmmm? Is that what it is, girl?" Sasha gives a gurgling howl as she tosses her head from side to side and hunches down into the universal dog form for play. Chuckling, he continues to lavish Shasha with affectionate pets, playful smacks, and belly rubs. "Well, girl, if you see that little bird, convince her to go back to her room. It's not safe wandering these halls at night. Monsters lurk in the shadows."
With one final pat to her head, he straightens up and looks over at my corner. His eyes unerringly find mine in the darkness. Lust fills his eyes as he stares me down, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile before he heads back into his office. Sasha follows close behind, no doubt looking for more love and treats from my monster. The moment the door latches shut, I race back down the hallway, trying to retrace my steps. Thankfully, I left the door open, so it was easy to find amongst the sea of shut rooms.