Authors: Nora Flite
Old Celeste was weak. She would have sobbed and whimpered out of the gate.
Against my neck, my golden hair tickled me.
Even if it was playing pretend... I needed whatever would give me strength.
"Aren't you full of surprises," he said. Swooping like a hawk, he nuzzled the side of my throat. His scent—that musky net woven from forests and ocean waves—ensnared me. It was tantalizing, promising me many lovely things if I just let myself swim away in it.
Cupping my cheek, he peered into my eyes. Leonide read the song that was painted across my face in the form of parted lips and pink cheeks. "Ah," he said around his crescent-smile, "there you are. There's the girl I was looking for."
I wrenched my head away; the damage was done. Standing, he let me go and gave my hip a quick kick with the toe of his polished shoe. "Get up. We have work to do."
With great care, I shuffled upwards. The cuffs kept my feet a hands-width apart, forced me to take tiny steps. There would be no running to freedom in these. "What kind of work?"
"Your training must begin." He held my wrist and tugged me close. I could see the perfectly groomed hairs along his jaw. "I've already had inquiries about you, lovely girl."
Inquiries.
My heart filled my throat.
Oh god, people who want to marry—no, call it what it is—buy me!
It was a chilling reminder of my situation.
"Don't look so shocked. A girl like you, well. I imagine you must catch many an eye normally." Wrinkling my nose, I looked away. His fingers, pinching the tender skin inside my wrist, pulled me back with a screech. "Listen to me. Listen very closely. If you have people showing interest now, you will have a groom soon enough. That means we must start right away with the basics, yes?"
No. The answer is no.
Grimacing at his wicked touch, I nodded helplessly.
Leonide released me, studied how I cupped my bruised skin. "I'm going to take you out into the main house. You are going to listen to me
completely
when we leave here. There is no option. If you don't obey the rules, I will not be so forgiving anymore."
I bit back a bitter laugh.
This is him being forgiving?
Lifting my chin, I dropped my arms to my sides. "Fine. Tell me the rules so I won't accidentally break them."
"Accidentally?" Palming his neck, Leonide sighed. "Simple rules for a simple girl." I tightened my jaw at his insult. "You will address me as 'sir' at all times. You will never walk ahead of me. Behind or at my side, as I direct. If I tell you to do something, you will do it
instantly.
Let me repeat that." Bending close, he pushed my hair behind my ear, causing my heart to bounce. "Instantly. Understood?"
My tongue worked to moisten my lips. "Yes... sir."
"Good girl." Blessing me with a grin, he walked to the door. "Don't speak when it isn't needed. A good wife does not chatter endlessly." Leonide paused, spotting how I wasn't following him.
I waved a hand down my body. "I'm supposed to go out there in just this lingerie? Er, sir?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I—but why?"
"Because," he said, waving me to walk around him. I did so reluctantly, squeaking when he smacked me on the ass as I passed. "I
said
so. Correct?"
Because you're a sick and twisted freak!
Rubbing my backside, I frowned harshly. "Yes, sir." He seemed satisfied, standing in front of me in the hallway. As instructed, I followed behind him, needing two steps for every one of his.
From heels to cuffs,
I thought in disgust.
The house looked lighter than when I saw it last.
Is it daytime?
I still had no clue on the hour or my location. We walked the upper level, my attention wavering between trailing Leonide while peeking down at the floors below. For such a big home, it seemed so empty.
Where are the women who undressed me yesterday?
He took me down a staircase, my descent slow as I gripped the bannister. Things were bad, but I wasn't ready to break my neck.
Leonide pulled up short; it was a miracle I didn't slam into him. Opening a door, the scent of something sweet hit me. The rumble of hunger in my stomach was excruciating. "Come along," he said.
Inside was a kitchen, three women—one of which was the braided girl I recognized—all working on various things on the counters and stove. Wide-eyed, I stared over the bowl of fruit, the dough being rolled, and prayed I wasn't drooling.
"Looks like you have an appetite. Good." Nodding to one of the woman, he nudged me towards the stove. "Go get two plates ready."
"I—what? I mean, what, sir?"
"Two plates," he said, eyebrows rising. "Get me my breakfast, Celeste."
Too famished to quip, I covered myself and shuffled after the woman with short, black hair and an apron. No one was staring at me, I could have been fully dressed as far as they were concerned.
I bet they've seen this before.
Glancing back at Leonide, I was revolted.
Other girls. He said there had been others.
She snapped her fingers by my nose. Startled, I blinked, focused on what she was showing me. By the stove, there was a platter of scrambled eggs and a tray of thick, spongy looking pancakes. She spoke to me, not a word of English. "What language is she speaking?" I asked, eyeing the man where he reclined at the dining table.
"The most beautiful of languages." His grin split his face. "Russian."
Russian! Of course!
I wanted to slap myself. Now I knew what Leonide's accent was, what caused his words to roll through me like molasses. "I don't speak Russian," I said nervously, shaking my head as the woman kept dictating.
Taking my wrist, she placed a spoon in my hand. Then, she pointed from the food to a stack of dishes. It seemed obvious. Grabbing a plate, I piled it with eggs and pancakes. Now, I was actually salivating. The hole in my belly grew with every whiff of breakfast-foods.
Carefully, so as not to drop my treasure, I carried the plates to Leonide. "Here, sir," I said, putting his in front of him. Without slowing, I set mine down and fell into a chair.
His foot shot out, toppling me and the seat to the tile. Though I cried out, not one of the women stopped their tasks. Sprawled there, I gawked up at him, not hiding my fury. "Why did you—"
"A good wife
always
asks if her husband—or anyone she serves—needs anything else before she sits down to stuff her fucking face," he snapped.
Blood thumped in my temples. Slowly I stood, setting my chair back. Leonide sat with his back straight, and so help me, the threat in his body language was daunting. I cleared my throat. "Can I get you anything else,
sir?
"
He was up, his chair scraping. "You can get me a girl who listens." Though I managed a step back, my cuffs prevented speed. He didn't need the advantage; he was already quicker.
I felt small, his hand forcing me to the floor. Still no one moved, no one once tried to step in and help. Like robots they worked; eyes down, minding their own business.
Leonide was whispering in my ear, guttural as a rabid wolf. "I told you to obey, you
fucking said you would
, Celeste!"
"I obeyed!" I whined, the tile hurting my chin. I was becoming acquainted with all of the floors in this house. "I did like you said, sir! I did it!"
"Oh? You think your scalding sarcasm when you emphasized my title was obeying?" Kneeling on my shoulder blades, the rain of spankings on my sensitive ass was explosive. "Or did you think I was oblivious and wouldn't notice your tone? Was that it?" Every slap cracked my armor. "You think I'm slow, Celeste? Stupid? Am I
stupid?
"
"No! No, you're not, you're not! Please stop, god, stop! Just stop, sir!" I couldn't control my babbling; the pain, the shame, it was too much.
Releasing me, Leonide scoffed. "You're correct. I'm not. Get up, you reckless girl."
Sniffling, I wiped my nose and knelt. He pulled me up the rest of the way, eliciting another whimper.
Gripping my shoulders, Leonide looked down into my red-rimmed eyes, waited until he had my full attention. Softly, he rubbed the outside of my arms. "The answer I was going to give was that, no, I don't need anything else." He pulled out a napkin, dabbed the remaining wet smudges on my face. "Now. Sit down, eat, and don't make such a fuss."
I had no grace left; I settled into my seat, cried out from the sting. I needed to eat, but embarrassment and scalding flesh ruined my hunger. The first forkful was pure effort.
Strength.
I shoveled more in.
I need strength.
Leonide banged the table, my fork falling in my distress. "Eat proper," he said crisply. "A lady doesn't cram it down her gullet. Small bites, dainty bites."
It was actually a good call on his part. I didn't care about eating 'properly' but my belly wasn't ready to handle the speed. As I worked through the meal, I took the time to peek around.
Sunlight streamed through a number of windows. It was a very white kitchen, peaceful and quaint. The women were still talking, cooking up a storm.
Russian. Does that mean—no. Impossible.
I covered my mouth, stared at the yellow bits on my empty plate.
I couldn't be that far! I was in Vegas, how the hell could anyone get me from there to fucking Russia?
Leonide must have a house with Russian servants, immigrants, that was all. That had to be all.
"What are you thinking?"
I crushed the utensil in my hand, not lifting my eyes. "Nothing, sir."
"Don't lie to me."
Fine. He wants to play mind reader?
Squinting at him, I thumbed the fork. "I was wondering where we are."
"Ah." Leonide pushed his plate away, most of it not eaten. "Easy. My home."
"But
where
is your home, sir?"
Even in the sunlight, his irises looked like pools of shadow. "You don't need to know that yet."
Dropping the fork, I didn't drag out the argument. If he didn't plan to tell me, this wouldn't be the way to get the information.
Let him feel superior. I'll learn where I am eventually.
Sliding his chair back, the man stood and adjusted his jacket. "Come along. We have more to do."
Copying him, I cast a curious look at the kitchen as we left.
What were they making all that food for?
There was so much I didn't know. Leonide was keeping me in the dark, his smile making it clear he enjoyed the power over me.
I need to be patient.
My gaze was stuck on the back of his neck, imagining the fork from breakfast stabbing in.
I need to keep playing pretend.
"This way." It was a winding hall, curving along until a row of pale purple doors appeared. Leonide waved me through one of them, shutting it softly behind us.
It was a tall room, lit only by a number of lamps in the corners. Iron closets covered the walls, mirrors reflecting the sight of myself back to me. It felt... wrong. Seeing myself in lingerie, ankles chained, lit by the glow of yellow lights; my intuition rippled. "What is this room?"
His first response was the hard click of the door lock. I spun, seeing him slip the key away in his pocket. "One of the many things my clients—future grooms—expect from the brides I produce is women who can dress well." His face was sharper, contrasted by the lamps as he approached. "Women who swing their hips, excite their husband and make other men jealous."
My back hit one of the closets, the handles rattling like teeth.
He makes dressing up sound so god damn obscene.
"Let's get started," he said, pausing a foot from me. "Unless you like running around in just lingerie, my lovely girl."
My eyes flicked to the exit. "Why did you lock us in?"
"Because I don't trust you to behave."
I couldn't argue his reason. Though showing him my back made me feel vulnerable, I opened the closet. Inside, the variety of colors and cuts was overwhelming. "What should I be putting on?"
Leonide hovered close. I wondered if he could smell my perspiration. "Often, it will depend on who chooses you. However, to be safe, you should be able to pick a number of things. Choose something... sexy. How does that sound?"
"Awful, sir," I admitted.
His laugh was genuine. "Pick it anyway."
One breath. Two breaths. I dug inside, wondering what to choose. The dress I'd taken to Vegas had been the sexiest thing I owned. Would something similar work?
He did seem to like it on me—stop.
I crushed my lids shut, buried the memory. I wouldn't think about Leonide, let alone that night.
The silky dress I pulled into the light was deep blue. It was slit along the side, the back dipping even more than the plunging front.
Too revealing.
I went to hang it up; his hand on my arm froze me.
"That one." It wasn't a plea.
Stepping away, I lifted the garment high. Then, I looked pointedly at my chained and bare feet. "Will you be undoing those?"
Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "As I said, I don't trust you. Slide the dress over your head." I moved to do so, he stopped me with a gesture. "Take off the lingerie first."
"What?" In the mirrors, I saw my flushed face. "I can't just strip in front of you!"
"You're forgetting your place again." He wound an arm around my waist. I became a statue, unsure what to do. "Remove them, or I'll do it for you."
I worked my brain over, chasing an excuse. "But—but, sir, if I'm supposed to marry someone else, won't they be mad when they find out you saw me naked?"
"It's my job to prepare you." His grip tightened, fingers snapping the waistband of my panties. "My clients know this. If you were a virgin, perhaps it would be worth it to have some modesty. But you, my sweet Celeste, are being billed as the quintessential American slut."
Acid swam up my throat.
"So," he went on, lifting goosebumps where he stroked, "quit stalling. Show off your naked body. I've already seen it, after all."
Could I be any redder? Slipping back from him, I gave myself room. Holding the dress like a life-vest, I reached behind and unhooked my bra. Letting him do it for me might have been easier, taken the responsibility from myself.
No. Take control, just get it over with.