Page 23 of Red Waters

His muscles were heavy, pressing me flat against the cold floor, sure to rub his body against mine, and then he slid off. As he stood, I didn’t miss him readjusting his growing arousal.

I returned to my trained position to not press my luck because my Whit attitude had returned. “I never got to hear the good news.” Clearly, his erection wasn’t it, not for me.

He held up the bottle of water. I opened my mouth only to be denied. “Training first.”

Back in the hallway, I tried to ignore the comments from a few men I didn’t recognize. Cash was being placed in their hands as if they had just made a delivery. They were speaking Russian and most likely nothing about me, but I was at their mercy—which didn’t seem to exist—so I was more than naked. I was utterly exposed.

One naked woman who looked to be in her early twenties walked past me. Her stare was to the floor, but she was being led by a leash a guard was holding. I noticed none of the men being paid dared to say anything in her direction.

Entering a room I had never been in, I waited for Yury to close the door before asking, “Master, may I ask a question?”

“Yes.”

“Why was that woman on a dog leash?”

“It is not for dogs. It is an honor. Only her true owner can put it on her. Only her owner can touch it. She has been officially claimed. She is a lucky one.”

“But, doesn’t that guy work here?”

“Yes. We are permitted one claim. It is a rarity, seeing how we have many at our disposal.”

“I’m confused.”

“The leash means no one else is allowed to touch her without his permission.”

God help me, I actually prayed for a leash from Yury.

The room I was guided into was not the filming room and no one was with us when he locked the door. There was no bed, but my heart still raced. I stared at the chains and leather cuffs hanging from the ceiling. On one wall, there was a row of what could only be described as whips. That was it. No soft lighting like I had seen in a movie to create a much-needed mood for such torture devices, only more coldness.

I didn’t know my shoulders had seized until I felt Yury’s hands rest on them. “Breathe.”

I wanted to ask if I would have scars but it didn’t matter. If I lived through all my upcoming training, I would be someone’s slave until my new owner killed me. A scar wasn’t going to change anything.

Absolutely vulnerable, I had a surreal moment of loneliness. The sensation coursed through my whole body, so deep it found its way to my soul, and I knew I would never be the same. My timid voice sounded weak in the bare room. “Master, may I ask you of one more thing before we begin?”

His hands tightened on my shoulders, affectionately, not with malice. It may sound odd that I was grateful for the sympathy of a man about to beat me, but it was all I had. Me, a cold room, and my abductor. That is why I asked, “Can you hold me first?”

When he didn’t say no, I closed my eyes and slowly spun into his chest like I had in the hallway during the beginning of Shelly’s terror. This time, Yury didn’t push me away. His arms didn’t circle me right away, and I didn’t care. I needed a gentle touch before the harsh ones.

Yury’s arm eventually held me. His head even leaned down to the top of mine. It felt so wonderful that I sighed gratitude and blindly stepped into the Stockholm syndrome state of mind. My abuser became the only person I felt I had to protect me. I couldn’t see he was the one doing me the most harm of all.

* * *

“You did very well, Fire,” Yury said from somewhere behind me, where he had been the whole time, reminding me to breathe and giving instructions on how to manage the pain.

Hanging from the chains, only the tip of my toes to support me, I shook violently as my back and butt burned from the strikes against my skin. I was exhausted. My head tilted forward because my neck stopped cooperating a while back. With my hands bound, I wasn’t able to wipe away the tears, sweat, or snot running from my nose. Fluids dripped from my face while my body screamed its confusion. I had never experienced anything like being whipped and was clueless to why anyone would enjoy it.

Standing in front of me, Yury held my chin up and wiped my face with a rag. “It will get easier, especially after I introduce orgasms into the mix.” I didn’t have the energy to worry about how I would endure that experience because I was completely spent; depleted of food and water. That’s why, when Yury opened a bottle of water, I started to cry again. This time in relief. I had made it. I was now able to reap the reward.

My mouth opened on its own accord, leaning forward for a sip. Yury obliged, bringing the bottle to my lips, tipping the bottom up. As I guzzled furiously, I suddenly felt a hand gently graze my breast. Hanging from the ceiling, I twisted away but only enough to avoid the touch while keeping my mouth on my reward. I was sure he was going to rip the bottle from me as punishment for me denying his advance. But he didn’t. I got to finish every last drop.

The water rushed through my body as Yury unbuckled a cuff. My now free arm dropped to my side and hung there. I had no muscle control and ended up hanging from one wrist. I was thankful for the cotton material that had been wrapped around my wrists before he strung me up or I would have had bloody wrists form all the jerking I did at the beginning.

Yury wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me to him while unbuckling the other strap. I winced at the contact because it was intensifying the burning of my skin. He offered unexpected sympathy. “I do not wish to cause you more discomfort, but I don’t believe you can stand on your own.”

Sinking deeper into my Stockholm syndrome, I thanked the mad man for caring.

Once my other arm was free, my legs gave. Yury was the only thing keeping me from hitting the floor. Cradled in his arms, I felt the worst was over but I was wrong. Outside the room, Yury handed me over to a complete stranger. They spoke in Russian as I desperately tried to move my numb arms. They were useless from being over my head for hours.