Blitzed (45 page)

A
fter dinner
, I cleared the dishes for Mistress. "Very good, my pet," she praised me, stroking her fingers down my arm. Her silken touch caused my skin to break out in gooseflesh, and I shivered in joy. "And you ate with such restraint. I would’ve thought after so much exercise, you'd have taken the lamb and gnawed it like a hungry beast.”

"Not at all," I said. “It was amazing, and I wanted to savor it.”

She gave me a smile. "Now, go wash up the dishes, and if you’re back within fifteen minutes, I’ll reward you.”

I couldn't help but rush through the house, carrying the few plates in my hands. One of the house staff guided me, leading me to the kitchen. Inside, there were a few of the staffers sitting down at the staff table, a large banquet-style arrangement that let the staff eat in a relaxed atmosphere. I'd seen similar arrangements in other buildings, long ago somewhere, but I didn't remember where. It didn't seem important anymore.

I found the sink and ran steaming hot water through the tap, soaping the washing cloth as the water splashed down on the plates, rinsing them. Picking up the silverware, I rubbed them carefully, making sure to get every trace of food off of them. As I washed, my ears picked up the conversation amongst the staff. While I didn't speak Ukrainian, I could understand some of it.

"Ah, I see that Svetlana already has him doing the dishes."

"Don't give him a hard time. With the amount of drugs they've pumped through him over the past week, I'm surprised the man doesn't think he's Michael Jordan."

"Karl, what’s with you and Jordan? You’re always talking about him.”

“Well why not, he’s the greatest basketball player of all time . . .”

"You sound like you’re in love with this Jordan. Enough of your crushes for one night, Karl. Get your guitar, we’ll entertain ourselves that way."

Their words pierced through the fog in my brain. Jordan . . . guitar . . . Jordan . . .

Her image came to me suddenly, the cherrywood hair, the smile, the little dimple in her left cheek when she smiled that matched the one on her back from a childhood accident. The way she'd looked on stage in Germany, playing her heart out on the borrowed electric guitar. The look in her eyes when we were in bed together, and the way her hands had covered herself so shyly the first time we'd made love. But most of all, I remembered that first time she ever played guitar for me, not an electric, but the custom guitar that Francois had in the cabin. The quietly confident notes, the rich voice that wasn't quite professional but still good, the way she'd looked as her tunes shifted from casual to love songs, and the look in her eyes when she met my gaze. In that instant, we both knew something had changed between us. My hands shook, and I quickly wiped the plates clean, leaving them in the drying rack. Seeing that the staff was ignoring me, my guide having joined her comrades around the table to enjoy some refreshments, I left the kitchen the same way I'd come in, hoping to keep up my charade.

Alone in the hallway, I immediately turned and went down a side hallway, running my hands through my hair. Jordan! What had this bitch done to me that I could have forgotten her so easily? What sort of monstrous things were put in me — in my mind?

You didn't forget her, though, a voice deep inside my heart said. Remember? In the shower, you may have been fantasizing about Svetlana, but what was in the background?

"Guitar music," I whispered to myself. "Aerosmith."

Her version, at least, the voice said. Now, before it’s too late, reach out to her.

Spurred on by the voice in my head, I knew I had to act fast. Whatever it was that Svetlana was pumping into me, I couldn't trust that my clear-headed state would last. If they’d broken me so quickly the first time, what would happen with more exposure?

Looking around, I found a set of stairs. I headed up them, hoping to find something that I could use to contact the outside world. I had yet to see a telephone or a computer of any kind, but they had to have them somewhere, right?

I found myself in a long hallway, with open doors on each side of the hall. Looking in, I saw that I was in the staff's quarters, at least based on the beds and the clothes I saw in the first two rooms I stuck my head into.

I didn't have much time, checking each room I could. In the next to last, I found what I wanted, a laptop computer that appeared to be connected to the internet. Hoping that it wouldn't be password locked, I opened the cover and hit the power button. I was in luck, as the screen flashed to life to reveal a standard Windows desktop.

I couldn’t read Russian, but Windows configurations are all the same, and the system was easy to figure out. Like Chinese and Japanese keyboards that I'd grown familiar with, the main keys were laid out in the standard English alphabet, with a subset that you could activate as you wanted. Switching between the two was done through a simple function keystroke, and I switched over to the English alphabet. Pulling up the web browser, I started typing. The numeric address was very long, and just the first stage of a last ditch security system that I'd had for years.

After the address was input, I typed in my username and password. The password was actually one of a series, thankfully sequential enough in nature that I could still remember it despite the tendrils of fog in my mind. I could feel them creeping in again, trying to drain my will, to make me want to go back to my lovely Mistress . . .

I slapped myself across the face hard. It helped enough, and I opened another tab, pulling up Youtube. I needed something to keep my mind focused where it needed to be. With effort, I typed in
One
into the search bar, pulling up the Metallica song. The guitar riffs started, and the fog retreated from my mind again with the thought of Jordan.

Going back to my messaging tab, I finished my password. The beauty of it was that it never would work again, and unless you knew the encryption key, you couldn't guess the next password in the series. Hitting enter, I hoped I had a few more minutes. Just a few more.

The screen pulled up the messaging tab, and I remembered that Vladimir told me Francois had sold me out. I couldn't message him, so who could I trust?

"A boy can always trust his mother,” I whispered as I typed out my email quickly.

This is Felix. I’m being held captive by a man named Vladimir and a woman named Svetlana.
Not good, at the thought of her name, I could feel the fog start to wash over me again. Russian Mafia?
I’m being held in . . .

Wait a moment, where the hell was I? I opened another tab and did a quick IP address ping, giving me at least a city and country.
Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine. Please, they’re brainwashing me. I need your help. Cannot trust Francois. I don’t know how long I can hold on.

The control Svetlana had instilled in my brain struggled to reassert itself as the music faded, and I fought back, chanting to myself. "Jordan . . . Jordan . . . Jordan . . .”

Tell Jordan I love her. And that I want to hear her play for me again.

With the last of my will, I closed the tabs, and set the computer back. If someone gave the computer a cursory once over, they wouldn’t know what I'd done, not without going into log files that I didn't have the time to erase.

Closing the laptop, I hurried from the room. I was halfway down the stairs when a voice came up to me. "Pet? What are you doing up there?"

"I'm sorry, Mistress," I said. "I had to find a toilet."

My lie wasn't convincing enough. "No Felix, you were up to something else. What were you doing?"

I struggled, and only by repeating Jordan's name to myself was I able to not tell her. I knew once the fog of her control came over me fully again, I'd not remember that well anyway. All that was important was Mistress Svetlana, and that I'd been a bad pet. I only had to hold out a few more minutes. "Nothing."

"Liar," she said, then sighed. "I shouldn’t have rushed you, letting you in the house before you were trained enough. My mistake. But, like any pet who’s let into the house too early and then makes a mess, it’s easy enough to correct. Sacha, please.”

The guard, who I'd never exchanged words with, stepped out of the shadows behind Svetlana, his ever present rifle in his hands. "Yes, Miss Svetlana?"

"Take my pet back to his container. It’s supposed to be cold tonight, so make sure that he has an extra blanket . . . and give him one of those small electric space heaters. Nothing too powerful. We’ll see to the rest of his punishment in the morning."

"Yes, Miss."

She pointed, and my head dropped. I walked down the stairs, following her gesture. As I passed her on the stairs, she held up her hand to stop me. "I'm disappointed in you."

Tears came to my eyes and I nodded. "I'm sorry."

She stroked my cheek, a small smile on her beautiful lips. "I know. And if you take your punishment well, this will all be forgotten."

Sadness was replaced with something at her words, and with a spring in my step, I followed Sacha down the rest of the stairs. She had, in her infinite beauty and kindness, taken away my sadness, and replaced it with hope.

I
woke
up in the morning, sighing in mixed disappointment and contentment. The night before, Francois and I had made love again, something that was becoming more and more frequent after the memorial ceremony. In the week since the event, we'd made love almost every night, Francois not even worried when I cried afterwards.

As usual though, I woke up alone. His new duties had him busy from nearly sunrise, although he made it a point to be finished by mid-afternoon in order to have family time. Rolling over, I stretched my arms over my head, relishing the feeling of languid exertion. I was still lower in weight than I'd been before Felix was taken from me, but I was coming back.

Climbing out of bed, I pulled on pajamas and walked out into the main room of the house, expecting to see Charani cooking or cleaning. Instead, for the first time in a long time, Syeira was up and looked active. "Jordan, we have to talk," she said urgently.

"Of course. What’s up?"

She shook her head. "Come with me."

"What for?" I asked. She leaned in and in her eyes I could see something I hadn't seen in a very long time. Excitement. Hope. “What?”

“Felix. He is alive.”

I
woke
up in the morning, stretching the kinks out of my muscles and smiling. Mistress had deemed me a well-behaved pet again the night before, so instead of spending the night outside in my container, I was allowed to sleep in the hallway outside of her room on the tile floor. I had even been gifted with a thin wool blanket, which I used not to cover my body, but instead to roll up and put under my head as a pillow. After all, the tiles were somewhat heated, but my head had no padding.

Now it was six in the morning, and I was supposed to wake up. Finishing my stretch, I quickly smoothed my sleep clothes and folded my blanket over my arm, standing at attention next to Mistress' door. I’d been told very clearly last night that after waking, I was to remain there until she awoke or called for me.

As I stood there, I saw some of the staff walk by as they began their daily duties, and some of them smirked. I knew what they said about me, even though they didn't realize it. I was her pet, her new toy, her slave. They thought those were insults. Oh, how they were wrong.

Instead, I was proud of it. The idea that my service pleased her lent strength to my legs and steel to my spine as I stood there in my bare feet, my toes going numb but still not moving. I kept my eyes straight ahead, only turning to nod or greet those who went by and spoke to me in either English or French. Even those who said good morning in Ukrainian were still given a nod and a polite smile — they were at least trying. Those who smirked or looked at me derisively I just dismissed from view, they weren't worth my attention. After all, it wasn't my fault they couldn't understand.

Finally, when the clock just visible at the end of the hallway said it was fifteen minutes after seven, I heard the sound that sent tingles down my spine and caused my heart to beat faster. She came to her door and opened it, stepping into the hallway and looking so beautiful I wanted to weep in adoration. Her platinum blond hair tumbled down her shoulders and her back like a halo, and her eyes sparkled with divine beauty and kindness. “Good morning, my pet.”

“Good morning, Mistress,” I greeted her, trying not to let my cock grow hard. It wasn't that she didn't know I thought her beautiful beyond compare, but instead she wanted me to learn how to control myself. Giving in to the beastly passions that coursed through my body was intolerable. It had been the hardest lesson I was to master, and one I struggled with constantly.

I was only partially successful this time, as my cock did twitch and swell, but not overly so. She noticed, and gave me the reward of a smile. “Very good. Your efforts are improving.”

“Thank you. I apologize again about yesterday, and thank you for the generosity of sleeping here last night,” I said, meaning every word. “How may I serve you today?”

“First, you need to wash and prepare yourself for the day,” She said. “We will add to your training, starting today. So, I want you to go to the kitchen and ask Maria for your morning breakfast drink, then after you have that, start your morning exercises. Shower, change into a fresh set of clothing, and meet me in the solarium by ten o'clock.”

“Yes Mistress,” I replied, straightening up as tall as I could. I turned to go and obey, when her chuckle stopped me. I turned back, questioning. “Is there something else?”

Her smile grew and she turned her cheek to me, pointing. “You did well. You may have a reward. Go ahead.”

I trembled as I leaned down to kiss her perfect alabaster cheek, my nose inhaling every bit of her scent and thrilling me all the way to my core. I wanted to linger, to taste and to feel more, but resisted, knowing I wasn't worthy yet. Instead, I pulled back, unable to stop the soft whimper that escaped my lips when she brought her hand up and cupped my face. “You have learned so well, so fast,” she said. “You make being a good trainer both very easy and very difficult. Now go, and if you obey well today, I may let you sleep in my bedroom tonight. The carpet is softer than this marble tile.”

I turned and walked quickly down the hall, Mistress' words adding spring to my step as I made my way to the kitchen. Maria, the morning staff cook, was already at her duties, mixing a large bowl of what I assumed would become porridge, as well as slicing Russian style kolbasa sausage. Many of the staff at the house are men, which means large appetites that include lots of protein. This was not a household for muesli or vegetables at the breakfast table. “Good morning, Maria.”

“Ah, good morning Spartak,” Maria greeted me, using the Russian name that I’d been given. My former names were fading into the haze that was my life before. I could still remember them, Felix and Gudada, although I did not quite remember why I had two first names. Not that it mattered, of course. All that mattered was serving Mistress. “And how is Mistress Svetlana this morning?”

“She’s well,” I said, unable to hide my blush. “She has asked that I come down and have my breakfast before my morning exercises.”

“Of course. I had it prepared twenty minutes ago, so I put it in the icebox,” she said. Maria was one of the few members of the house who spoke good English, although she tended to use the British variety instead of the American that I was familiar with. “It has probably separated some. Would you like me to blend it up again?”

“That would be nice. Thank you,” I said. “Can I stir your porridge while you do that? I know the staff wouldn’t appreciate lumps.”

Maria smiled and nodded, handing me the large wooden paddle-like spoon that she used to stir the ten liter sized pot. Thankfully, Maria was quick, and brought me my cup. “Here you are. By the way, I upped the caloric content. Svetlana said that you lacked energy right before lunch. Three scoops today, and I used full fat milk instead of skim.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking it and stepping back. “May I drink it here?”

Maria laughed and nodded. “Spartak, the only person you have to ask permission to do anything around here is from the Mistress. In case you haven't figured it out yet, being her pet is quite a high position. Serve her well, and I will be calling you sir before you know it.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I would allow that, Maria. I only wish to serve her as best I can.”

Maria sighed and took the pot of porridge off of the heat, replacing it with a large cast-iron griddle that she arranged her slices of kolbasa on. As I started to drink, the fat from the sausage melted and began to sputter and crackle underneath the sausage, adding a festive spark to our conversation and a delicious smell to the air. “Spartak, you are an intelligent man, despite what others think of you. And yes, I’m aware that you know what they say, for the most part. You understand more of the Ukrainian than many others realize, and you've applied yourself with equal fervor to learning what’s asked of you. For this I congratulate you, but I also ask that, once you are familiar with your duties with her, that you strive to expand your topics of conversation with me beyond that of the Mistress. I know you and her discuss other things. I overheard you two talking in, what was it, French, the other day?”

“Yes, I speak French,” I said, taking a deep drink of my shake. I could taste the extra thickness that the third scoop of protein powder and the full fat milk added. I was to be in perfect health, so instead of the normal porridge and fatty sausage, I ate like an Olympic athlete, with foods prepared for me by the kitchen staff. My breakfast shake was made with the finest imported protein powder and high-quality organic milk, along with flavorings, vitamins, and other ingredients that Maria hadn't told me. “What else would you like to talk about?”

“We will see what happens,” Maria said with a chuckle. She flipped the first dozen kolbasa patties, then waved with her spatula. “But if you want to know, I like ice skating.”

As I finished my shake, I reflected on the strange position I held. Some of the staff envied my luxuries, such as the better clothing I was given and the finer foods. In fact, I would eat lunch and dinner with Mistress if she wished, and not in the staff kitchen. But what they didn't understand was that with great luxury came great expectation and the weight of living up to the faith and the investment that was placed in me. I had to earn not only Mistress' trust, but all that she had given me as well.

I finished my morning meal with a long drink and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. “Thank you, Maria. I'll be back by nine thirty to eat my second meal. Until then, I must get on with my preparations. And I will think about the ice skating.”

“Of course. I will see you later. Enjoy your training, Spartak.”

I left the kitchen and went out to my container, even though I didn't like the place. It was a converted cargo container after all, but it did have the few items that I'd been allowed to call my own, including my exercise clothes. Stripping down, I shivered in the sub-freezing temperature, but accepted it. Mistress told me that the cold helped me stay lean, and it increased my testosterone production, which she valued. As such, I wore nothing but a form-fitting tank top and compression leggings along with my running shoes as I started off on the morning run.

First, a two-kilometer jog to warm up my body before reaching the river bank, which dipped sharply for nearly fifty meters to the water. Walking down to where the toes of my shoes touched the river, I turned, sprinting up the twenty-degree incline as hard as I could until I reached the top before walking back down and repeating the process again and again. After the last one, my heart was pounding in my chest and my mouth tasted of electric spit, but I pushed myself to run as hard as I could back to the house, stripping off my shoes when I got inside as I was instructed, and going to the house's fitness center where I found another pair of shoes and socks inside my bag which had been hung on a hook on the wall. Quickly changing, I followed my program for the day which had been written out on the bulletin board for me, leaving my upper body as exhausted as my lower. I glanced at the clock and pushed myself, cursing my laziness during my sprints as I only had seven minutes now to shower and bathe myself before having to see Maria in the kitchen again.

Jumping in the shower, I couldn't help but shiver as the cold water splashed against my upper back and down my body. Working quickly, I lathered my face with the provided soap before shaving, using precious minutes to make sure I didn't nick or cut myself in any way.

With one minute and fifteen seconds minutes to spare, I got out of the shower and dried myself off, wishing I had a few seconds to enjoy the rich Egyptian cotton of the towel. Instead, I quickly changed into the briefs and pants that had been laid out for me before applying the cologne that Mistress wanted me to wear, then pulled on my undershirt. I could wait on putting on the rest of my clothing until after my second meal.

I got to the kitchen again just as Maria set my second meal on the staff table. She glanced at the clock and tutted, shaking her head reprovingly. “You are pushing your time, Spartak. It’s nine thirty three. Can you make it in time?”

I nodded, sitting down and setting my other items over the back of the chair next to me. “Mistress wants me in twenty-seven minutes. I can finish this in ten, and still have time to finish my morning preparations.”

“You are going to eat a three-hundred-gram steak and the sides in less than ten minutes, and still be ready to put the rest of your suit on? I have to watch this.” Maria wiped her hands on the dishtowel that was hanging off her apron strings and sat down at the table across from me.

I got to work, not taking the time to savor each bite as I began chewing mechanically, cutting and forking the next bite even as I swallowed the one before it. I wished that Maria had prepared ground meat for me instead of a steak, it would have been easier, but was content. “This is good.”

“Thank you, I rarely get a chance to cook evening-type meals,” she said with a chuckle. “Although if your time schedule is going to become this compacted, I may switch to making you those American style scrambled eggs with cheese that you like.”

“If that is easier, go ahead,” I said, sticking another bite of steak in my mouth. My stomach was clenching, not wanting so much food after such a hard workout, and my calves trembled underneath the table inside my suit pants, but I didn't stop. At that moment, eating was my job, and I was going to do my job to the best of my ability.

The last bite from the plate went into my mouth at eight minutes and forty-three seconds by the clock behind Maria, and I now had exactly nine minutes to finish preparing. Wiping my mouth on the napkin, I stood up. “Thank you Maria. You are a talented chef.”

I pulled on the shirt and silk tie that Mistress had ordered laid out for me, tying it in the full Windsor that she said she preferred. I checked my tie length against my belt and then the knot itself, snugging it under my chin and making sure the collar tips laid down perfectly before grabbing the jacket. It wasn't Italian, my build was too broad for that narrow of a cut, but it was still a very nice suit, imported from London according to Mistress when she first had me wear it for her. I did the top button on the jacket and turned to Maria, who had gone back to her duties. “How do I look?”

“Do you really want me to answer?” she said with a little laugh. “Because you look good enough that I want to drag you away and do things to you now. So get going before I lose my job.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Thanks, Maria. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Leaving the kitchen, I hurried, the heels of my shoes clicking over the marble tiles as I made my way to the solarium. I noted to myself that the clock on the wall read nine fifty-nine as I came to the door, seeing that it was empty. I went inside and assumed the position I was to take before receiving instruction, my hands behind my back and my eyes cast to the floor, with my feet exactly shoulder width apart in the middle of the floor, touching nothing.

There I waited until I heard the sound that I longed to hear, the distinctive click-clack of Mistress' high heels on the hallway tile. While the outdoor turf was often too soft and muddy for her to indulge in such footwear, especially in winter, she loved the feeling of height that the stilettos gave her, and they made her legs look so good that even the sound of her walking was pure sexual energy. The door to the solarium opened again, and I smiled, still not lifting my head. “Did you have a good exercise session?”