Mamma who bore me
Mamma who gave me
No way to handle things
Who made me so sad
Spring Awakening - Mamma Who Bore Me
Paris Winter 2011
He is a tall man, broad shouldered and toned. His skin is bronzed with the sun and he has a light dusting of hair over his chest. It isn't unattractive. His half head mask is firmly in place so I can't see the color of his hair and he wears black leather trousers that hug his hips and his muscular legs. The dusting of hair extends to his stomach and trail into the top of his waistband.
Uncharacteristically, I want to lick it. I also want to check my mask but my hands are tethered above me again and I know by now that any movement will result in punishment. Sometimes with a flogger or a paddle, if I'm lucky. Most of the time he simply withdraws and leaves me standing in the middle of the room with my shame. I like that. Who knew I was a humiliation junkie?
The voice, deep and resonant, is enough to have my body reacting. "Good evening, beautiful Mia. You are looking delightful, my dear." There is a trace of an accent. Georgian? Russian? I can't tell.
"Do you like? I think the ropes match my eyes." I flutter my eyelashes at him while I try to stand still. I want to please him, I really do. I had no idea that I would want that so much. But poised here, my hands tied above my head, with few clothes on, has me vulnerable and squirming in his presence. He laughs.
"Stop moving, Mia." How can I, when he is tracing the curves of my body with his flogger? I loved the tendrils trailing across my skin like a promise. I suck in a breath, my stomach muscles contracting. "You are so perfect, my lovely. You have good lines."
Do I? I have bulges that other girls scorn. I'm muscular and fit, with an ass like J Lo. "I am too rounded, Sir." I have never been self-conscious in my life but standing around in g-string and corsets with a relative stranger tends to make one a little more self-aware. Perhaps, my curves will not be good for this mission.
The slap on my fleshy butt cheek comes quickly and from out of nowhere. It is also quite resonant. I should have expected it. Talking back is forbidden. "You will not contradict me."
"Obedience doesn't come easily to me, Sir. Probably why I am better suited to the CIA and not the FBI." The sound of stifled male chuckling echoes around the room.
"She's still a brat." A voice, American, Texan perhaps, echoes out of the darkness. "Even tied up with the threat of getting her ass reddened, doesn't stop her."
"Unruly but not untrainable." A British voice, low and resonant.
"Needs the right master, Sergei. Perhaps, you've lost your touch." More chuckles. Part of me wants to lash out verbally, or cut their private parts off with my knife.
"I could train you." I smirk into the darkness where the voice comes from but I can't make out his face. I shift my weight to one foot. A show of defiance that isn't helping me.
"Still resisting." The Texan drawls. "Baby girl, what you fail to understand is that if we can't train you, nobody can."
"Then maybe there is something wrong with y'all." I draw out the last vowels. Just when I think my sarcasm is lost on them, my trainer steps towards me. I'm hoping that last remark will earn me a slap on the ass. I want that stinging heat and I straighten up to prepare for it. He stands near enough to reach me but does nothing.
"No. She's impossible." The flush rises on my skin. There is only one way.
A larger part of me is embarrassed and scared shitless that I can't do this. The shame makes me wet - between my legs and on my face.
"Leave." There's a pause before the group shuffles out of the room. After fifteen minutes, footsteps approach but I can't raise my eyes from the floor. He releases my arms and there is pain as the blood runs back into them. He rubs them and I slap his hands away. Without a words we leave the room. I thought I liked humiliation. That is nothing to what I am feeling knowing that Ethan Kavanagh just rescued me from my own mistake.
"You were only supposed to watch." He's pissed. Well, so am I.
"How the fuck am I supposed to learn from just watching? I won't fool anyone."
At that he turns suddenly and pins me against the wall. "Maybe that's the fucking point."
Seattle, Tuesday 21 June 2011
This is Elena Lincoln. I am unable to take your call right now. Please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as I can.
Two days since my mother finally evicted the bitch from our lives and I've spent most of it playing phone tag. I've never known Elena to back down from a fight but I guess this is one that she can't win and now I am going to pay for it.
"Any luck?" Jensen is looking at some analysis I've done on the membership data from Orpheus but since he's been on my back about the fall out from Saturday night, I'm thinking he's only got half an eye on the task and the other seriously pissed at my family for fucking over our plans to get back into Orpheus.
I shake my head just as the phone starts to vibrate in my hand. Speak of the devil.
"Elena."
"Mia. You called." No apologies, no explanations. The woman is ice.
"We had an agreement. I was hoping that we could meet and hash out a schedule."
"I…yes, yes, of course. How about coffee?" When she suggests El Gaucho, I know she is hoping to run into my mother. Thankfully, Mom's schedule has her on rotations today so I'm happy to take Elena up on the arrangement with the knowledge that an accidental meeting won't happen. An hour later I arrive to find Elena already seated near a window, glass of Sancerre in hand.
"Mia, darling, how lovely to see you." I'm thinking that she might a few glasses in. She's wearing sunglasses even though the restaurant is fairly shaded. Somehow, the effect is less celebutante chic and more battered housewife.
"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Elena." For reasons I can't explain, I feel sorry for Elena right now. Christian has almost cut her off, he's marrying a woman Elena deems unworthy and my mother will probably never speak to her again, after a friendship that spans twenty two years. I'm sure she must be feeling something so I'm trying to be gracious. When her smile shows the slight quiver of a lip, I decide to show some uncommon affection and I take her hand as I sit down. "How are you?"
She grips my fingers a moment then pulls away and signals for the waiter to come and fill my glass. I guess we aren't going to talk about the elephant in the room.
"Now. Your training schedule." She's all business as she takes out her phone, I presume to check her calendar. There's a tremor as the phone shakes in her hands. She has to place her wrists against the table to keep them steady.
"Elena. We can talk about the schedule soon. I want to know how you are." And for the first time in a long time I really do. Don't get me wrong. She got what she deserved when Mom ousted her from the party. She deserves a lot more but that would require Christian being ready to lay charges and I don't think that is ever going to happen.
"Please don't gloat, Mia. It is unbecoming." The whispered words are on the edge of tears. I'm not sure if she is even aware of how fragile she is right now. Her show of emotion is foreign and makes me nervous. I've seen Elena intimidate her staff with firm kindness laced with the undercurrent of disdainful hostility. But this smacks of volatility, forcing me to watch every movement for an indication that I might need to jump out of her way.
"I'm not gloating. Why would I?" If she was thinking straight, she would realise that I've lost the leverage I was using to force her hand. The photos released in the right way might bring down her business empire but my mother is untouchable now. I'm happy for my mother, for Christian and Ana but I still need Elena to come through for me. Perhaps the threat to Esclava is enough.
"You came here for a reason."
"Yes, we had an arrangement. I want to make sure that goes ahead, regardless of recent events. But I can see that you are upset, and believe it or not, I'm genuinely concerned."
Her finger snakes under dark lens to swipe away a…tear?…acid?…the blood of small children? I don't give a fuck about her emotional state except for what it might mean moving forward. The smile slips back into place like a cat on a keyboard. You know it's gonna happen, it will make things awkward and its just the wrong place for a fucking cat…or a smile…to be.
"I'm fine. Christian is still my business partner. Your mother might never forgive but she will soon forget. And you and I will continue this charade while you prepare to seduce Mr Kavanagh for your own ends."
Upper hands are only as good as the person who holds it. I have to hand it to her, Elena has some emotional balls of steel. Even falling apart at the seams, she can cut everyone else on her way down. Including me, apparently.
"Charade?" Avoiding the rest of the bullshit that just came out of her mouth, I go to the one thing that will bug me for weeks if I don't get to what's in her head.
"Yes, charade. You don't want a master. You're in love with him."
"What makes you say that? Love isn't an emotion you're familiar with."
"Touche." Another sip of wine, another slip of the mask. "However, that doesn't diminish what I saw between you. There's history. He knows you."
"Yes, I met him in Paris. I told you that."
"Did he see you train?"
"I don't know. Perhaps." I'm not going to revisit the humiliation of Ethan ripping into me about my participation in that training session. Of course, if we had been a little more honest with each other about our feelings, perhaps that conversation might have gone differently. The training, too. A waiter arrives to take our order but I wave him away. My need for food is replaced by a need to get this the fuck over with. When he's gone, I lean forward. "Look, Elena, I just need to know if you're prepared to continue. I don't have time to mess around. I want him. I want into Orpheus so I can get him."
"Not terribly submissive desires, my dear. Have you thought about what happens when he finds out your true intentions? Being bought doesn't mean he'll commit to you."
"If you're trying to tell me that money doesn't buy love, save it. It pays for a shit load of things that make love possible. So I'll take what I can get."
"You'd sell yourself with no guarantees."
"It seems to have worked for you." This is pointless talk and she knows it. She gave up the rights to tell me how to live my life a long time ago. She's merely a means to an end.
"I never wanted this for you." I have to strain to hear her over the noise of happy, laughing people around us, living happy, normal lives.
"Quit stalling, Elena. Nothing you say is going to change my mind."
She stares at the bottom of her empty wine glass but doesn't make a move to refill it. I wait. "Make time in your schedule for a day at Esclava on Thursday."
Standing, she smooths down the seams of her skirt before moving through the restaurant on rather unsteady legs. I consider chasing after her to drive her home, more for the sake of other drivers than for her. Just as I go to move, I see Isaac step into the frame and take her arm. Poor sop. As long as he ties his cart to her horse, he will forever be scooping up her shit. It doesn't seem like much of a way to have a relationship but at least she will get home without killing anyone.
Seattle Wednesday June 22 2011
The initial sessions that Jensen arranges for our in-house training at a private retail venue in the city are dedicated to learning to identify equipment. Tools of the trade associated with the various shades of soft to hard core BDSM have been passed through my hands for inspection and identification. A specialist takes me through the transition stages of various forms of nipple clamps and anal plugs. At a theoretical level, that is. I mean, I'm pretty sure that Ethan would draw the line at some sales assistant inserting butt plugs into my ring just to see if madam likes the size and fit. When I attend another 'in-house' training session I am disappointed to find I am once more by myself. Ethan is focused on Kate and Elliot, I know most of what is going on so I'm trying not to be petty but part of me was pissed off that Elliot gets to have family holidays and dinners with my mother and father-in-law when I hadn't even met them yet. My mood has me distracted because when the trainer, a man with the kind of nasal wine that can strip paint, hands me a buzzing dildo with a clitoral stimulator attachment and I almost drop it on the ground. The trainer takes my distraction as shock and calls an early end to the session.
"Mia. Can we talk?" Rory calls me aside as I walk into the safe house. I can tell by the look on his face that whatever this is won't be about my shining performance to date. Every in-house session is on direct-feed video so he's aware of my lacklustre performance.
"You're reacting too much. When you're in a scene and you're being watched, you can't show that kind of reaction."
"You and I both know that the backroom of a shop is not the same as the club. If I'm off my game, its because of the complete lack of atmosphere and the fact that my trainer is a Gary Shandling sound-alike. So get off my back."
Things would be different if Ethan was beside me but he's not. I don't know if Jensen or the agency about the baby but it comes under the heading of none of their fucking business. Especially since Jensen doesn't want Hyde taken out of play yet. Ethan and I no longer talk about it over the phone. The anger sits too close to the surface and he's no closer to getting Kate to press charges.
"I'm sorry that we couldn't get you a stud to train with but you better get used to the idea that not every man that wants a piece of you at this auction is going to look like Kavanagh." I can't believe Jensen is still talking at me. I'm not sure what to do with his words except to throw them back in Jensen's face out of frustration.
"Jealous, much?" One look tells me he isn't. Rory would be a pretty good substitute for a dom if I wasn't already married to Ethan and if Rory wasn't such an ass-hat.
"You're acting like a novice." Doh!
"I am a novice." I see the double take. Bad move, girl. "I mean, it's not like I live the lifestyle or even have a draw full of sex toys."
"Half the time when the instructor is talking, you act like you've never even had sex before." My next reaction, I swear, is totally involuntary but I cast my eyes down and blush furiously. "Shit. You're not a virgin, are you? I thought you and Kavanagh…"
Pulling myself together, I reach for defiance with enough shit kicking aggression in the mix one that maybe one of us might be convinced. "None of your fucking business…Sir."
He turns to walk away. "Jesus, I thought Kavanagh was screwing you. We've got to get someone more experienced…" His phone is in his hand as he hunts through his contacts for dial-a-sub. I grab it out of his hand.
"Don't you fucking dare. This is my gig. Mine and Ethan's. He doesn't go without me and I don't go without him." Giving way to much away, emotionally here, but when it comes to my man I will go territorial on his ass. Maintaining professionalism is one thing but I would rather be shot than think of Ethan being involved in this with some other agent.
"So, you are screwing him. Shame. When you get tired of it, let me know." So that's the way it is.
"Never gonna happen." I cut in over the top.
"Never?" One eyebrow punctuates his question. Fuck it, I step towards him.
"Nah, ah." He moves in, holding his body close to mine. As a woman in a male dominated profession, I'm used to sexual intimidation. Losers and lowlifes like to think that female agents can be manipulated with a few well-placed suggestions. Damn it, the tosser is actually looking down my top right now. I thrust my chest forward with enough force to make him look at my face. A challenge.
"Seen enough, Sir?" For a moment, he looks tempted to touch but then the asshole laughs and turns away, his attention immediately taken by a screen full of numbers.
"Grey, what do you make of this?" The change of mood and topic is instant. He indicates a stream of code on the monitor. And just like that, we move on. Time to work my magic. I walk over and sit down at the keyboard. Before long, I have decrypted the codes and started a process to separate out time log data, looking for patterns of movement. My eyes are traveling rapidly over the columns, shifting back and forth between them as my brain does what it does best. The 'what' of the code is easily identifiable. The 'why' and the 'how' is what they pay me the big bucks for.
"Bank account traffic. These are corporate accounts, those ones there are personal, and that set are off-shore." My fingers fly over the keyboard as I quickly isolate the sets. "By the looks of the IP's they could be Caymans. That is a shit load of dollar value being trucked around." I manipulate some of the data, trying to trace the flow direction against times. That's odd. "Look at these ones. These are coming back on shore. Laundered out and legit back in, maybe? It's smart. The value changes but the clue is in the batch numbers. They might look completely different but they are switching between binary and ternary. Subtle because it is only the last eight digits."
"So the transactions are originating here?" This time when he leans closely over my shoulder there is no sexual intent. He is as absorbed in the screen traffic as I am.
"Hard to tell but it looks like it, yeah." Then something catches my eye. "Hang on…there…the UAE hub identifier." If I hadn't seen one before, I wouldn't recognize it. I worked on a case where we were tracking funding for arms movements into Afghanistan. After six months of chasing code around a screen, that particular ident is imprinted in my internal database.
"What about this other code?" Rory pulls in the second monitor to shift my attention. I study it for a moment.
"It looks like shipment figures. Cargo dockets maybe? Import/export stuff. Some of these look like they might match up with batch numbers on the other screen but it's hard to tell. Certainly, those ones there are strange. They don't look like anything that you would expect to see in a manifest. You want me to take it and play?"
"Yeah. If we can work out the time lines on that second lot of data we might be able to work out when and where the next shipment is coming in. Right now, all we have is the port of origin but the ship could be anywhere right now."
"Do we have a name?" Stupid question. If we knew that, we would have tracked the damn thing via satellite but without the name, the ship is merely one of hundreds of thousands of boats in international waters at any one time. Ours would be impossible to find without more specific info. "Let me see what I can do." I pocket the usb he hands me, feeling a little anxious to get out of the building and call Ethan.
"Is Ethan coming in tomorrow?" He asks, as I get to the door. I nod, with all the confidence of 'I really don't know'. Being available for his sister is taking all of his spare time right now. I want to be with him but he has to stay at Kate's apartment. Not a good idea for me. Especially not when sex is right off the menu. Fuck, when did my life become so bizarre.
Just when I start to feel petulant and needy, I recall the unbearable situation that Elliot and Kate are currently going through. I can't imagine that kind of pain nor would I care to try. But my heart breaks for them both and not being able to help is killing me.
Seattle, Thursday June 23 2011
After almost one week of in-house instruction, this all starts to feel unremarkably similar, and yet not. The French are more subtle in their approach. Attention to detail and finesse is part of the ritual. Every gesture has a meaning, every word is tasted on the tongue. Here at home, it feels like saturation therapy. Between Elena and Jensen, they are desensitising me, one video, book or piece of sexual hardware at a time.
Since Elena handed me the list of instructional materials on the night of the auction, I've been so busy with all the other events of the last few days that I hadn't given it another thought until the day after Christian's birthday. Now, my waking hours have become a diet of continuous on-line porn with no husband in sight. My professional library already full of titles like 'Blow Jobs for Dummies' is augmented with Elena's recommended literature including The Story of O. Within three days, I read about and see more variations on the sex act than I knew existed.
Le Jardin was mostly an education in voyeurism for me. Permitted to watch but participation limited. I was allowed, even encouraged to ask questions but practical sessions, well, let's just they were disappointing and it was best for everyone if I avoided them where possible. In hindsight, the huge barrier of my hymen would have got in the way of a good time. Not that sex was expected, in fact, as an agency operative in training, I was strictly off limits, but when it got down to it, my mind and my mouth would have been protecting and masking my innocence in ways that even I wasn't aware of.
At the time, I was thankful that Ethan and I seldom attended training sessions together. I have no idea what he did or didn't do in his preparation. Part of me assumed, hoped, that his training was as innocuous and distanced as mine but given the lessons he has taught me since Denmark, I would say my husband has skills that I haven't got the experience to tap into. Now that I know a little more about what I want, Ethan has disappeared into his family, looking after Kate as best he can. After being discharged from the hospital she moves back into her apartment and refuses to see Elliot. The distance isn't doing either of them any good. Hell, it isn't doing us any good. So, with all the drama between Kate and Elliot, I feel like I can't bring it up. Not even over the phone.
Finishing up my morning session with my trainer at La Belle Epoque, I move quickly outside to the street and steel myself to keep moving ahead. It is tempting to go and hide back at Bellevue, sleeping with my laptop and working on the analysis until my eyes close with exhaustion. But there are other more pressing arrangements to be made. Nausea sweeps over me as I dial Elena's number.
"Elena."
"Mia…you still want the dom. Silly little girl, after our chat, I had hoped that you would get over your little infatuation." She seems to have gotten over her little emotional breakdown. I'm disappointed but not surprised. At least today I know who I am dealing with.
"Spare me the sermon, Elena."
"I don't know what it is about you and your brothers but you all seem intent on establishing relationships with the wrong people." Now, I don't expect a lot of love from my DNA donor but I also don't relish the thought of being attacked every time I pick up the phone. I've been apart from Ethan for five days. The last time I saw him, I had my head down a toilet hurling up whole lemons. I really don't need this shit from her.
"Look, Elena. Your sordid little display at Christian's birthday means you more than owe me a little of your time and a lot less of your attitude. Scare tactics won't work and nor will any of your vitriolic rants so cut the crap and tell me where you want to meet."
"Darling, really? Neither my time nor my attitude is at issue here. Your intentions are."
"For fuck's sake, Elena! So, it's okay for you to seduce and convert an underage boy to your kink but when I volunteer to be trained, you develop a conscience? Really, that is fucked up even for you." The group of women walking past me in their corporate suits and sensible shoes, so obviously on their way back to their grey cubicles on the seventh floor of hell, stop their chatter in shock. I glare and they scurry along with their heads down. I feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my head so I reach behind with one raised finger, enough to elicit the requisite gasps of derision.
Elena lets out her own hiss. Hitting her where it hurts is becoming a specialty area of mine.
"Where are you?"
"Pick me up outside Dad's office." Within half an hour, we're racing through the city streets in her sports car, with the top down. I know for a fact that she is doing this to be seen with me. It'll go some way to silencing the gossips about the sudden rift between Elena Lincoln and the Grey family. Smart, bitch.
Soon we arrive at her salon. "I don't really understand what we are doing here?" If I need it, I'm not averse to getting treatments on my own dime. I'm not sure why Esclava could offer me anything that I couldn't access anywhere on any day of the week. If the kinky bitch thinks that having it done under her supervision means that she has ownership of my body, then I'll have to put her straight.
"You need preparation." By preparation, I know she's probably only talking a wax but after the week I've had, the vision of butt plugs and anal bleaching slips into my brain and won't leave. I feel the involuntary clenching of my thighs and sphincter as she walks around the car and stands at the door to Esclava waiting for me to join her. As a rule, I like to keep things neat and trim but I would rather face down a sniper than have my pussy plucked clean. Having studied the videos and read the books, I'm resigned to not really have a choice. Keeping the nerves from my legs I push forward and march into the salon.
Esclava is sterling stylish and concrete sleek, outfitted with top of the line equipment and New York runway-standard staff. Elena's army of pencil thin mostly foreign women with peroxide blond hair and flawless makeup are more than a little intimidating, flinging around the elements of the latest word in treatments before they've become trends for the middle classes. There are three men amongst the staff: the eternally gay Mitch who runs the reception area with military precision and a Bollinger-stocked cooler; Franco, the chief stylist, who speaks with an Italian accent but actually hales from Hoboken, New Jersey and presents gay while shagging anything that moves; and Lucas, a Brazilian oiled and ripped hunk who gives the most amazing massages and whose equally hunky brother is the mayor of some small town near Sao Paulo.
Once you enter the hallowed halls of Esclava, your body ceases to be your own. Every part of you is scrutinised and evaluated as wanting. Every square inch of womanhood is prime real estate requiring maintenance and enhancement. With its three month waiting-list, Swarovski crystal chandeliers and celebutante regulars, you need a triple-A credit rating to enter through the doors and a second mortgage approved before you leave. The coffee shop across the road is the local haunt for paparazzi who take up residence waiting to see who comes and goes and in what state. When Christian brought Ana here a couple of weeks ago in preparation for the Coping Together gala, five photos appeared in the online tabloids of Christian throwing her over his shoulder before they made it back to Escala.
"Mitchell, is everything ready?" Elena barks out her question and the females in the salon, a faceless, nameless band of copycat blonds, all jump but the ever-professional Mitch remains unflinching at the sharpness of her tone. He greets me with a carefully constructed air kiss, cold glass of champagne and a squeeze of my upper arms, as if he's checking for weapons or signs of anorexia.
"Miss Mia. Welcome back, my lovely. You'll start with Lucas in the Orchid Room. Katya! Vite!" With simple efficiency, he summons a minion to escort me, effectively ignoring all of Elena's bluff and blunder. By the look on his face, there is an element of surprise at my presence indicating that the news of the fall out between Elena and Grace has travelled at lightning Lily-speed. Discretion has never been that girl's strong suit. The slender brunette comes running from whichever cupboard she's been hiding in, visibly cowering when she catches sight of Elena. I'm not surprised. Every female in this place is a replica of Elena and although they might be scared of her, they present with confidence and congenial efficiency to the clients. This girl with her long dark hair and terror-filled chocolate brown eyes is out of place.
"This way, please." With heavily accented English, the girl, who I suspect might be pretty, refuses to look any of us in the eye for longer than a few seconds. Instead, she keeps her head lowered, cowering as she skirts around the edges, allowing me the room to traverse the space unencumbered by her presence. When we arrive at the other end of the main salon she ushers me through a dimly lit and ornately decorated corridor, around a corner to one of the private treatment rooms where the luscious Lucas will work his magic on me. Taking my coat, she almost trips over trying to back out of the room and I instinctively reach out to save her but she cringes away from me with an apology.
Elena sweeps into the room after us, glancing back dismissively at the young woman who pulls away from my grip and is now scurrying away down the narrow corridor. I can't quite fathom the behaviour or the girl and it's only once she has disappeared back around the corner that I realise she has apologised in Russian.
"You'll have to excuse her, she's new." Right now, I am not sure what the girl has done wrong that she needs to be excused. Apart from her brown eyes, she looks remarkably like Ana. For a moment, I wonder if she could have been one of the sub club but the only one with a foreign background is Jenna Deyani McCluskey. My brother's history of contractual relationships with submissives is one that I know Elena has had a hand in facilitating. The clincher is, they all look the same. Slender brunettes with the ability to demure to his every whim. Ana is the first girlfriend out of all of them and the least likely to lie down and take his dominant shit. She's also the only woman who has appeared in public with him besides family or Elena. I wonder if Katya was intended to be Ana's replacement.
"She's not your usual type of employee, Elena." I let that observation hang in the air for a moment. Both Elena and Christian have a tendency to hire statuesque blondes for their menial tasks. I've never thought about it much before but it has fetish written all over it. Katya stands out like dogs balls. "I like her."
"Is everything okay in here?" The infamous Lucas shifts into the room from some space beyond, with all the stealth of a big cat. His expression is totally impassive. A perfect, 'I hear nothing' face. I would expect that survival at Esclava depends on a combination of client discretion and schooled ignorance.
"Perfect. Thank you." I reply, giving Elena her signal to leave. She doesn't move so I taking a leaf out of her staff procedure manual and ignore her as I go about my business. Getting around the man in the room is another thing. Lucas is a huge unit who takes up most of the space in any room. He'd be intimidating except he's so gorgeous that women tend to salivate out of all of their glands whenever he comes anywhere near them meaning you don't so much move around him as ooze. Involuntary horniness takes the edge off his menacing frame. There was a time, when on trips back state side, I would flirt a little with Lucas just to see that dimpled smile from beneath his two day growth. Now that I have Ethan back in my life, neither Lucas nor his gorgeous brother could tempt me. However, I give him my customary grin as I step into the small dressing room to ready myself, hoping like hell that Elena will be gone when I come out.
Later, after Lucas has rubbed oils and minerals into every inch of my skin and I am lying on my back on the table, my face, neck and chest covered in some sort of mud-textured goop, when I hear voices raised outside in the corridor. One of them, I am sure is Elena, only it is a little hard to tell since the conversation is in Russian. The other deep male voice is arguing with her.
"She is simply not capable of what you ask. I need more time to prepare her and even then, I am not sure she will ever be up to standard."
"Farad will be arriving in a matter of weeks. I need to know that we have product ready to be moved in that time. This is worth a lot of money. To all of us."
"I could give you one of the more experienced girls."
"No, he has seen the video, and she is the one he is prepared to pay for. Besides, this is a permanent arrangement. He is not interested in the girls' experience, only his own. The contracts have been signed and first payments made. You know how this works. Make sure the girl is ready. And Elena." There is a slight pause that remains silent. "Do not think of letting me down. Dasvidanya."
Footsteps retreat down the hall and I become aware of the door to my room opening. Rather than react, I make my breathing heavy, feigning sleep. The door closes again and ten minutes later Lucas is back and cleaning me up. The young woman, Katya, returns and nervously leads me to the next room where the waxing specialist works her magic. Elena is nowhere to be seen.
Four hours later, everything is waxed and plucked, my nether regions are as bald as a badger, my eyebrows have that shape of perpetual surprise and my skin, nails and hair are all buffed, polished and glowing. I shuffle back out to the car clutching a newly acquired, highly-expensive, anti-acne cream and a rawness that feels like it might last until Christmas. Bitch-face pastes a benign smile on her dial as she drives me back to my father's office. I'm guessing that she hopes to run into him, which is going to be so over my dead body. Or hers.
"You're sure you want to go through with this?" My answer is yes, because it has to be. Inside, I wonder if I'm ready to fully embrace this world? I don't know. The training so far has been both innocuous and enlightening but nowhere near as enticing as the way Ethan took control of my body at the boathouse. The combination of that knowledge and experience has me more than a little intrigued. The more extreme kink makes me nervous but since lives are at stake, I have to get past that. Elena seems intent on asking the same question over and over again but when a car backfires somewhere near us, she jumps, clamping her mouth down on whatever inane advice was about to spew forth.
"Absolutely. I long for it." My eyes focus on hers. Righting Elena's wrongs gives me a sense of purpose but I still have to make her believe that I'm sincere. Knowing that even one life might depend on our ability to pull this off raises the stakes. But her nervousness is unsettling. I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince her or myself.
She studies my face a moment longer before continuing.
"Tomorrow evening, I want you to meet me at Club Orpheus. I'm stepping up your training. The slave auction is in a few weeks and we need to make sure that your dom is committed to your purchase."
"Will Isaac be there?" Isaac instilled me with some confidence when we last spoke so I am ever hopeful that the connection between us will mean that Elena might actually try to guide and protect me. When she looks away she effectively crushes those hopes.
"Yes, he's a switch so he will put you through your paces." If I hadn't been looking for it, I would have missed that slight look of reservation on her face that sends a shiver down my spine.
Seattle, Saturday June 25 2011
The bar is ass-grabbing busy. I sip mineral water, while she drinks Sancerre. "You will not over-indulge in alcohol, caffeine nor sugar."
After Christian's party, I'm happily sworn off alcohol. Sugar I can take or leave but coffee? Seriously? I live less than two hours from Starbucks central and she wants me to lay off the beans? I'm not sure that's safe for me or anyone who comes into contact with me.
"And you will not fuck anyone, not even yourself." Her accent might be Pacific NorthWest but her cadence is all Bolshevik. I choke on the mouthful of water I'm attempting to swallow. I've just spent a week in the back of a sex shop with an open credit card. I've bought toys that are going to make even Ethan insecure.
"Pardon, me?" I don't know why I asked. It's not like I didn't hear and I certainly didn't need her to elaborate.
"Take the batteries out of your toys, wear gloves to bed, I don't care. You will not orgasm during training. Not unless you are given permission to do so." She's been reading too many erotic romance novels. I'm not even sure that withholding orgasms is a real thing. The only withholding going on is because I haven't spent any alone time with Ethan for six days.
"Look, Elena, that's a little over-the-top kinky, even for you. We're just putting on a demonstration."
"Yes and no. If it were just a demonstration for your dom, then I wouldn't care. But he will not be the only buyer there. There will be a lot more…scrutiny of your skills. You don't want to attract the attentions of the wrong sort of buyers." The slight tremor as she puts her glass to her lips is all that gives her away. Ethan would be proud of me for noticing. He would also be putting a stop to this whole display plan.
"You seem nervous. Should I be nervous, too?" I fight to keep my tone innocent. She takes her time, sipping the wine, holding it in her mouth, swallowing it down, replacing the glass on the table in front of her. Picking up the napkin, she dabs at her lips, careful not to strip or smudge the deep red lipstick. The more control she tries to exude, the more my heart rate amps up.
Finally, without meeting my eyes, she replies, "You are not ready. This concerns me."
A/N: Welcome to a 2016 Revised Chapter. Please read and review.
Thanks so much for the wonderful support. The flashback in this chapter is different, giving us an idea of how much Mia managed to fail during her Paris training. The discussion with Elena at the restaurant is new. I wanted to explore the initial fallout of the birthday party. Hopefully, it meets with your approval. There are some small edits in the Esclava scene and I needed to take the in-house training off-site so have created Belle Epoque as the sex shop where the extra training is taking place.
Hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know. Sasha xxx