Brought To My Knees

Part 2

Chapter 5

I struggled to concentrate in all my lectures the next morning. Something had shifted inside me. Fear was in the background all the time, but I had woken to Luba’s soft golden eyes. And since then I had not been able to shift them. Weirdly I ran into her boyfriend, Piotr, who was studying in a different department, coming down the corridor. As he walked past, I did not know whether to laugh or cry at the thought of him fucking her up the arse. I caught myself with this new language in my brain, but then my heart went wild as I remembered Luba’s tears when Ludmilla had checked whether she had broken up with him. Did she love him? Was that jealousy?

At lunch, I found a table in the corner of the canteen with a copy of Master and Marguerita, our set text for the summer, but struggled to concentrate on the devil popping round Moscow, when I knew he had settled here in Tomsk. People were used to me being studious and withdrawn, but Stasia, my best friend, was offended when I brushed her off, and in mid-afternoon my course tutor held me back. “Is everything ok?” he asked. “You seem so far away.”

I looked at her, and wondered if Ludmilla had made contact with her too. “Nothing serious, Sir, just family things.” And ran off to my English seminar.

It was dark as usual when I left my last seminar later, and the woman at the cloakroom handed me a little note. My heart skipped. The studio. 7pm. It was in Luba’s handwriting. I had an hour and found a little dingy cafe opposite where I sat, drank water and pretended to read, my mind whirling even faster. Was this real, or just a response to what Ludmila and the others were doing to us. What of Piotr? Then my parents, what would they think, their Dasha with a girl? I felt sweat drip down my back. Nothing was simple any more.

But when I went up, wrapped up again and crossed to the gym studio, there was a bounce in my step. The thought of seeing Luba brought warmth. One of the boys in my year passed on his way to the gym, but otherwise it was largely empty, particularly when I climbed the two floors to the top. The changing room was totally dark. I must have misunderstood. Disappointed I turned to leave but was grabbed from behind and pushed violently against the metal cupboards which rattled against the wall. A hand came hard across my mouth to stop me making a noise.

It was her. Luba. So much stronger than me. Street strong.

“Can I trust you?” she hissed at me with a deep bitterness I had never heard before. “Can I really trust you? Are you with them? Like them already?” She spat the accusations out with a mix of fear, anger and passion.

I stopped struggling immediately, and tried to find her eyes through the darkness. I gently laid my hand on hers, pulled it away from my mouth and drew it down to between my breasts to feel the pounding that I knew no clothing would cover.

“That is not only fear,” I whispered and reached up to kiss her.

She ate my mouth with a passion that left me reeling, forcing our bodies down to the floor, weeping as she did so. She pulled my hand under her own thick sweater, then sort of collapsed sideways beside me.

“I am sorry, you are all I have now,” she mouthed through the darkness,

I took her fingers and gently kissed them one by one. I had never felt anything like this before. I would do anything to protect her. I picked up the other hand and kissing the fingers felt a kind of strength grow inside me.

“It’s my mother. They arrested her last week.” She suddenly took my face in her hands with renewed strength, “You can escape, you must.”

“No,” I breathed into her mouth, ‘I can’t leave my parents. I can’t leave.”

I climbed over her knees so we were facing each other, and put a finger on her lips. “Not any more. Tell me about your mother.” She told me her mother had been charged with prostitution again. She hid her head in my shoulder, as she told the story of her mother bringing her up alone, and how the authorities could always get her. This time she knew it was Arkady Antonovich’s doing.

In the darkness we quietly went through all the options we had to get help. My parents no, not with their terrible struggle to simply survive. And not with the threats. Madame Polina, we agreed, was completely unaware of what was happening, and anyway Ludmilla Petrovna could destroy her with the click of a finger. We discussed various teachers, knowing that at least one of them had already been helping Master Arkady.

As we guessed our way through our ignorance, between each name I kissed her playfully. “I saw Piotr in the corridor…” I bit my lip, immediately regretting it as I saw her flinch. My stupid mouth. She shook her head. “It is ok. He was never a stayer.” Whatever that meant, my stomach took a little bound. I did not know what to say.

“Piotr was nice. I am vulnerable and his dad has money now, and yes we did silly things.” I hid my face in her sweater.

“Are you jealous?“ She looked at me.

“Of course,” I sort of stuttered. “I am sorry for asking. I just felt so odd when I saw him in the corridor and remembered what you had said last night.”

“It is funny and sweet. It was Piotr who told me you are very clever and are aiming at M.G.U.? You must take those exams. It is your only escape”.

I looked, uncertain if anywhere was safe any more. I so wanted to lift a stray hair from her eye. Instead I dug a finger hard into the palm of my hand. “They told me they could stop M.G.U. too. They seem to know everything.”

Her voice dipped. “I don’t know, I’m not clever like you. You must try. I was thinking of the army to escape them, but even there….” Her voice trailed away.

I took her hand in the darkness, two girls between the metal cabinets. If anyone found us like this it would be a scandal, and yet I felt so comfortable with her.

“Had you kissed a girl like this before, Luba?”

I felt her stiffen. “Not until Madame, no.” She ran a finger softly across my chin. “I thought being a lesbo was for the ugly ones who couldn’t get a man.”

“So did I?” I laughed. “Until you held me last night. Now I have no idea, but all I want to do is touch you.” I stroked her cheek. “What did Ludmilla do to you?” I could feel she hated the memory.

“That day, after the caning, she made me pleasure her in front of the lawyer.” She shook. “And then him.” I could feel the shame through the darkness. I held her face. I smelt her first, and closed my eyes. She touched my shoulder, a little squeeze.

She nodded and the brave front dropped a little. But then she laughed quite loud, and as she stood up, whispered under her breath: “Outside the dance studio, we should not be seen too much together I think.

“Shall we make an agreement that nothing they make us do, nothing, nothing, nothing….will count between us?”

She laughed softly, clapped her hands and pulled me tight to her.

“You are amazing. So innocent and so wise. No, nothing will count.” A silence. “But you know they will try to split us apart, to make us help them break the other. They will get me to help break you. I am the slut. You are the treasure.”

I sat there facing her, perched on her knees, silent in the face of what was coming. I whispered: “I really am innocent you know. I have never really kissed a boy, let alone a girl like you. Never really seen a cock before Arkady’s.” I curled into her in the darkness in protection as the image of the maid, Valentina removing Arkady’s erection returned, along with the fear of what he would do to me with it. “And I’ve never ever felt what I feel about you now.” She was silent, gently stroking my hair.

“Can I ask you something else?” I tried to explain my arousal during the session with Ludmila Petrovna, how I had felt myself respond to her handling of me, and even worse when watching her treatment of Luba. “God, I didn’t want her to hurt you, but I know my stomach was responding too. I was so ashamed.”

Luba simply took my head in her hands and began kissing it ever so gently: my eyes, nose, cheeks, exploring them in the darkness.

“I don’t know what they’re going to do with us. But you do have me now.”

Chapter 6

As Ludmilla Petrovna left the session the next evening with the two of us, naked in kneeling position, she casually informed us that our waxing had been booked at the new Lux Spa on Kluchevskaya St on Saturday. And that Valentina would pick us up after, and take us for a fitting session. She did not say what needed fitting or where. “And make excuses to whoever you need about that evening. A rehearsal or the cinema, anything you like”.

“Valentina?“ Luba raised an eyebrow to me.

It was the first time she had looked straight at me all evening. We had decided as far as possible not to be seen to be together, though it seemed Ludmila was unworried about pushing us together. The 90 minute session had been a stressful repeat of the previous exercises, walking in heels, the three positions with the addition of a table position and a slave curtsey. She had not brought her cane this time, perhaps to prevent marking us, but she used her open palm to make clear when the knees were not wide enough or the hem not high enough to show our open sexes.

“You haven’t met Valentina, the woman they call the maid?” I told Luba about how she had at once helped me but also prepared me. As I explained I found myself unpinning Luba’s gorgeous hair so it fell down across her shoulders, and buried my face in it, as I described how Arkady had played with her, then used her mouth and handed her on to the man from the FSB. The smell of Luba enveloped me as I worked down to kiss and taste the sweat on her shoulder.

“You realise that on Saturday we are being prepared for them? Particularly you.” She held my head tight to her shoulder. I shook a little. Ever so gently she pulled me back, openly studying my face then my breasts then down to my sex. Her honey eyes looked back up and into mine. “I want to make love to you before that. Really make love.” She whispered it so low I was not sure I had heard. “Can you stay out tonight, tell your parents you’ve been caught out and are going to stay with me?” She laughed at the irony of what she had just said.

I stared mutely at her nodding my head. Inside my heart wanted to explode, outside tears flowed. She stood me up and we rushed like little girls into the changing room, scrambling into our clothes, jamming on our boots and coats and hats as we charged outside into a full-on blizzard. That stopped us a moment but only a moment. Luba dragged me across the road to the little phone box next to the bus stop. Her confidence in handling me was overwhelming.

Hardly hearing through the howling of the wind and the freezing receiver, I managed to burble to my mother convincingly that the blizzard had stopped everything, and that Luba had a place nearby and …. At that point a bus came looming magically out of the snow, and we leapt on. There was one drunk man in the corner of it, seemingly blissfully asleep. We sat next to each other like naughty schoolgirls as the bus, its windows totally frosted over by our breath, fought its way through the whiteout. For twenty minutes we sat with our own thoughts, the roar of the diesel and faces muffled by scarves, making attempts at conversation pointless. At some point Luba slid her gloved hand into mine.

I had no idea where we got off, though I sensed it was near the huge expanse of the frozen Tom from which the wind tore the snow in at us with stinging ferocity. Holding my hand tight, she led me behind some tall dark apartment buildings to a line of old wooden houses, the few remnants of a town of the edge of time and the world. At the third, she pushed open the low gate, up some steps onto a veranda out of the wind. She reached down behind some bricks and emerged brandishing a key which after a few tries let us both into a dark hallway. The quiet was startling after the howling of the wind outside.

She found a switch to reveal a dark wooden interior, leading off to a large low-beamed kitchen to the right. She pulled her scarf away from her mouth. “My aunt’s house. She is in Khabarovsk for the winter, and let me use it after Mum’s arrest. I did not want to be at home.” A girl of the streets.

I pulled off the snow covered valenki leaving a pool of water in the enclosed porch where coats and scarves hung, and slipped my feet into waiting slippers. As I moved to undo my coat, Luba stopped me, pushing me gently through the low door in the kitchen.”Wait. We have to start the fire, and get the stove going.” She busied herself with kindling and logs as I sat on a stool by the table, adoring the light play across her face. “We’re best staying in here,” she said as she left the room, returning a few minutes later with a pile of furs and blankets and pillows, which she dumped on the floor in front of the stove.

She filled a kettle and put it on the stove. As the fire caught, I unbuttoned my coat, unwinding my scarf and shaking out my hair, suddenly nervous, perched on the stool in my sweater and jeans. Luba methodically laid out furs and blankets on the ground. She poured out two glasses of hot dark tea and stood them on the floor by the stove. Without stopping, without even glancing at me, began removing her clothes. Her sweater momentarily got caught in her loose hair. Then the jeans, the socks, the bra and panties. I watched mesmerised. What was I doing here? With this girl? She stood naked in the firelight, turned and looked directly at me, burst out laughing and dived into the blankets like a child with only her face and hair poking out.

“Do you know how frightened I am by you?”

I held my hands tight to my chest. She looked up from her bundle of furs, nodded and suddenly a long elegant arm snaked out towards me, startlingly pale against the dark wool of the blanket. I stood, placed one foot on either side of her body, bent down and took the hand palm up, once more kissing each finger in turn. When I finished with her little finger, she reared up and tried to grab my arm to pull me down but I was too fast.

Our eyes were laughing.

Standing out of reach, I removed my shoes and socks. I folded them with excessive care, carefully placing them on the stool. Taking my time. For her. The stove had begun to heat up the room, but my thighs still tingled with cold when I unbuttoned my pleated skirt. It began as controlled performance but the act of peeling off my sweater, undoing the blouse turned it into something deeply intimate. One by one I folded the clothing and placed them on the stool. Then there was the bra, tights and panties. I stood a moment naked for her, my nipples puckering from the cold, proud, but a moment later other images of me naked before Arkady and his friends flickered across my mind, and my confidence fled.

She frowned a moment, then understood. She sat up, the blankets falling away to reveal her long pale naked torso haloed by her russet hair like some classic painting. Her long arms reached out to me again. This time I laced her hands in mine and let her pull me down onto her. She covered us under the blankets, then held me so our bodies touched at every point, hers warming mine, mine warming hers. Nothing was said.

She took my head down to her breast to hear the pounding inside her. My tongue instinctively reached out to taste the nipple, feeling it respond to my touch. I pulled away, and took her head down to my own chest. She paused for a moment to listen, and then in a simple movement straddled me, pushing me down into the furs, and began exploring my nipples with her tongue and teeth. Every bite sent a streak of electricity through me. First one, then the other she licked and bit, before rearing up to dive down forcing her tongue into my mouth, breast to breast and groin to groin. And then she began making love to me, slowly, tongue and hands with gentle precision turning into a rhythmic force.

Half an hour later, I had my first orgasm. And some minutes later, I had managed more clumsily to make her cum too with a confused mix of tongue and fingers.

Then we were back, bodies tight against each other, staring bemused at each other in the half-light. I closed my eyes and breathed: “Thank you.” She closed her eyes: “Thank you”.

Then I laughed, threw back the blanket, straddling her stomach with my wet pussy, threw my arms up in the air and screamed to the whole world: “I am no longer a virgin. You can no longer take that from me.” Then looking down at her, I mouthed: “I can never be theirs now.”

I looked down at her lustrous face: “Can I be yours?”

Luba shook her head as she watched me. “Yes.” She grasped my hands and placed them on her breasts, and then grasped mine. She squeezed them so I flinched, then very deliberately lay back, her arms splayed out above her head, arched her back to offer her breasts as my wet thighs held her hips down: “This is all yours, Dasha.”

I had no idea how we fell asleep in the warmth of the fur. When I woke, some time later, my head was still in the crook of her arm. The fire from the stove was in its last embers flickering across her face, for the first time at peace.

“I love you,” I murmured into her ear.

Chapter 7

I woke up with a start, feeling a hard floor beneath me, uncertain where I was. I rolled over to find Luba’s legs in front of me, with her in just a blouse cradling a cup in her hands, smiling down. She knelt down beside me, lifted my head into her lap, and offered me the warm tea. It was still dark outside, but the fire and the stove had warmed the room. Leaning against her body felt so natural. Her hand gently crept down across my collarbones to my breasts, pushing down the blanket to look down my body.

I felt shy for a moment and clutched the blanket for a moment. What had happened to me? I had never considered sex with a girl. Ludmilla had transformed us, me at least. Was this really me? I savoured the feelings of the night before. Luba watched me working overtime, paused, then ran a finger up my nose and across my brow. Making a decision, she placed the mug carefully on the. floor, slowly undid her blouse and shrugged it off. Half an hour later I had had my second orgasm, and once again had felt her thighs crush my head.

The sun had begun to rise by the time both of us were dressed, facing each other on. stools over the kitchen table, the furs and blankets packed away. Back in my clothes I knew I had to get home before making my way to Ludmila’s beauty appointment, but it was early still, and sitting there sipping tea felt like a good way of delaying the inevitable. The blue tiles of the old stove glinted in the soft first sunlight catching swirls of dust through the steamed up window. Streaks of light lit Luba’s hair against the window. She was younger than me but hardened, understood these people and what they could do. She also knew the streets and how to survive alone. My head whirled with thoughts of escape. One version true escape, the other of the two of us simply walking out into the snow drifts and being frozen there together.

Her soft voice wove another spell. “I will never forget this, Dasha. That is why I brought you here. Now they can fuck me and beat me, use me, anything…..but I have been yours now.” I slipped to my knees and lay my head on her lap. “I know, it is the same for you,” she stroked my cheek, “But we must never show them, or it will give them the power to hurt us more.”

I sat back up. We talked about how we had to obey whatever, that we had no choice until we could manufacture some sensible plan. We caught ourselves. We were just two girls against this world, pretending to plan. We could feel the energy drain away and as a weight of silence grabbed us both, the dread descended.

I stood, looked for my coat, dropping my gloves and hat on the muddy floor. Confused and lost, I almost fell. Instead though I marshalled myself, turned to Luba, took her face in my hands, kissed her hard then walked out into the freezing, blinding purity of the snow bound city.

“Did you have a lovely evening with Luba?” asked my mother forty minutes later, busying herself in the kitchen as I hung up my things in the dark narrow corridor that was a damp array of coats and hats and boots. “You must be freezing. Are you hungry? Where did you stay?”

“Mum, stop fussing. I must get changed. I have to be on Frunzenskaya again by 1. So many things needed for the gala.”

“Sit down a moment. Tell me everything,” she said firmly enough that I slid onto the kitchen chair opposite the cooker in our small galley kitchen. I studied her slim back in her frayed sweater and skirt, as she heated up some soup and cut bread for an early lunch. She had had me at my age, before getting through University. I always suspected that I had been a mistake, that Dad who was fifteen years older than her had seduced her in some way. She was almost closer to me than to Dad in taste, but not for the first time, I felt the weight of worry and life hunching her shoulders over the stove.

The past few years had stripped away all the certainties of her life. She had managed, even bringing me up, to graduate with honours as a highly qualified scientist, employed in the defence industries that proliferated in Tomsk. But the funding had disappeared since 1991 and her laboratory attached to the biological institute was collapsing. With it had gone a sense of purpose. She never talked about it to me in part because the work was secret, but I saw it in her. And at night I heard the way the arguments with Dad had become sharper and more desperate as his job in local government planning had also unravelled. Before the collapse, he had been some sort of party boss with the perks and privileges of that, which explained the fancy tv and foreign cooker. Bribes I now knew. He had enough contacts in town to hear what was going on, too much pride to beg and too little fight to find himself a new role. Those were mum’s words to a friend, I overhead when she did not realise I was still at home. From a comfortable place of some respect under the Soviets, a world I barely remembered, they both felt discarded in this world of money and show, a world they never understood, let alone grasped.

That world had now grasped me.

Dad had gone out. He spent little time at home, even at weekends. I don’t think mum missed him much. She’d shrug her shoulders, saying she never quite knew where he went, but no doubt to drink. He was no thug, never returned home out of control and had never hit mum or me like I knew other friend’s dads. He tried to sink his despair elsewhere, and it was never talked about. I never quite knew if he believed in the party ideology, but the few times I asked about Gorbachev and Yeltsin, he made clear his loathing, blaming them for the decline of Russia, the loss of its Empire and its prestige. Watching the news, he’d pontificate on a better world in the past; Mum’s face told a different story as she listened, but still she felt defeated by the new present.

She turned, placing a bowl and bread and sat opposite, trying to smile as she stirred homemade jam into her tea. She always made sure I ate, after a dangerous year when ‘to keep my ballet body’ I had got ill from not eating. She commented on how I was glowing this morning. We had always been close, and I had innocently shared so much with her.. Now I tried to fill her in, able to tell her how amazing dancing with Luba was, and how demanding the woman from the opera was. Mum was so excited for me about the gala, particularly when I said how ambitious Ludmilla Petrovna and Madame Polina were. She told me not to get carried away, that my degree work must not be forgotten, for my real dreams were of academia. I said of course not.

The bread caught in my throat. Everything was wrong. I was lying to her about everything. I could not tell her anything true. About Luba. How I had lost my virginity to a woman the night before. About the joy I felt. Or about the dread and terror that overwhelmed everything else, the meeting at the Dacha, the sessions with Ludmila and of course the unknown that awaited me in a few hours. That the innocent girl she so loved and wanted to protect was no more.

I watched myself build an invisible wall of lies between us. I picked up the bowl, and washed it with my back to her to cover my confusion, and barely saying thanks, went to my room saying I had to wash and change. Even that felt foreign now. The posters of Snoop Dog and Eric Clapton combined with the portraits of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky stared down on me from another time. As I peeled off my clothes, I was sure I could smell Luba, the smell of love and true desire. In the cramped bathroom, I cleared the clothing my mother had hung to dry and began running a bath once the water got half heated. I brushed my teeth looking at my face in the mirror, sure it must have been totally transformed by our love making. Did I see the glow mum had noticed?

I caught myself half wanting never to wash again in my life, but finally stepped into the bath, taking the sponge to myself, from legs to belly to breasts and down between my legs as I did so often. This time I revelled in how we had been the night before, the images burnt in. The reverie was disturbed by other images intruding, Luba in position three, Ludmila with her cane, Arkady’s cock. Why did Valentina kneeling and offering herself come so strongly?

I must have dozed, because the next thing I heard was Mum knocking. She walked in, picking up a towel, and asking what time I needed to be in town. My regular dancing since I was seven had meant we were never shy with each other, but when she reached forward to start helping me as she had so many times before, I flinched. I saw a flicker of hurt in her tired eyes, but ignored it. I grasped the towel from her hands and, stepping out of the bath, gently pushed her back out of the room. I thought for a moment of Luba drying down my body, but then shivered as I registered that once again this afternoon my body would not be mine either.

Forty minutes later I was standing, wrapped up against the wind, outside the intimidating blacked out windows of the Lux Spa. New, shiny and glamorous, the spa was the sort of place I would never have dared go near. The list of services was elegantly offered on the inside of the curved window, a pool, a sauna, sunbeds, waxing and manicures, but no price list or special offers.

Luba and I had agreed that I would arrive first, on time, and she would come a bit late, harassed and certainly not be seen to be with me. As I summoned up the courage to enter, I wondered whether Valentina would be waiting; instead there was a small cloakroom along with the compulsory babushka, guarding a selection of coats and scarves and boots, mostly I noticed more elegant than mine. The woman offered me a pair of clean white slippers, and a number tag with a key on it. She had a little bowl for tips but did not expect anything yet.

I pushed onwards into a reception made up of a glass desk and low slung white leather sofa with tasteful enlarged photos of semi naked women looking elegant. The glass coffee tables were covered in fashion magazines. Behind the desk sat a blonde girl in a white nurse style uniform with a name badge. I recognised her as being a few years ahead at school. She smiled a welcome, though no recognition; instead a flash of surprise at this scrap of a girl in jeans and sweater.

“I have an appointment at 1pm, Daria Filatova,” I managed with the performance confidence I did not feel, but knew I would need all day.

“Ah yes, you and a friend? The gold service booked by Valentina Gorskaya?” Did a knowing smile cross her face as she examined me again. “Full body and sauna?”

“That sounds right,” I mumbled as my confidence drained away. I did not belong here.

“We are ready but better to wait for your friend, no?” She looked down at the register. “Luba Saratova, is it?” Every word now rang in my head. “Friend”… had sounded so loaded.

I sat and immediately my eyes registered the cover of the magazine Ludmila had been reading at our first session. The beautiful model staring sternly from the shiny front cover seemed from another planet. In this fog, I realised I had not heard a question from the woman but decided to ignore what I think had been an offer of juice or coffee or tea. Find some way of sitting in the low slung leather.

At that moment a draft from the cold blew under the door, announcing Luba, after a few moments of removing layers, she burst through the door, a startling energetic ball of red hair in a latex tight emerald mini dress. The receptionist gaped at the apparition.

“Sorry I am late. A bloody bus broke down on Leninski.”

Who she was apologising to, the receptionist or me, was entirely unclear, but her gangling frame towered over the woman and she pointed back at me. “I’m with her.” I was laughing in delight, while my insides melted at being so close to her again.

As I stood up, an inner door opened and a slender middle aged woman, also in white uniform, poked her head through and said they were ready if we were. We were taken through to a large cubicle with two beds on either side, piled with soft white towels and pillows, where. a much younger woman standing by a metal trolley on which lay an array of what looked like surgical instruments.

“The gold full body wax and then manicure?”

We nodded while making clear that we had never had it before, that we both usually shaved for our dancing. The older woman introduced herself as Svetlana and told us that the younger, Tanya was there to assist her. As we took off our clothes, she offered lovely thick white robes and explained the procedure, how some of it might hurt a little. As we had agreed earlier, I acted a bit shy, as Luba simply stripped off her dress, pulled down her tights revealing a thong. “My mum’s” she said of the dress giggling. I hesitated but began taking off my plainer clothing. I have no idea if Svetlana noticed the running of my hand as if by chance across Luba’s stomach. I simply could not resist.

Svetlana, the older woman, was clearly a little perplexed. “Our clients are not usually your age. It doesn’t look from what I can see that this will take long, she said first raising Luba’s arms and then running a hand along her leg. She turned to me and, doing the same, frowned. “In fact I can barely see the point.”

“Our ballet mistress demanded it for the Winter Gala,” I said, as she pushed me back onto the flat bed and parted my legs, flexing them at the knee to examine my sex and anus.

She did the same with Luba and looked at both of us. “You clearly have a very demanding ballet Mistress. And all I can say is that you are both really really beautiful young women.” I could feel the blood rising up my chest and just glanced over at Luba. “You both shave your underarms and legs so that will largely be a question of oil and massaging. We can, though, clean up around here. It might be a bit painful but if that is what you want. I’ll do you first,” turning to Luba, “while Kristina here oils and massages you.” she signalled to me.

Kristina quietly asked me to remove the robe, laying a warm towel over me, then pouring some warm oil onto her hands, and began working up my body. It was extraordinary how strong and probing her hands were, digging out knots up and down my body. I had foot and leg massages after dance exercises a couple of times but nothing like this. The hands took over my body and I dozed off thinking lovely thoughts of Luba’s mouth and body, only to be startled awake by Luba screaming. Vera was holding two waxing strips, laughing and pushed Luba back down. “The anal ones are always the worst. Won’t be much more.”

“Your turn next,” Luba looked across at me with mock horror, the love in her eyes and closed mine accepting it. Above, the young girl’s hands were working up my rib cage, under my breasts and driving oil and fingers into my underarms. A few more tears and squeals from Luba, and Vera turned to study my sex and anus, taking a towel to dab away what I hoped was only oil, but feared was not. She was very business-like, and the pain was limited, and then she picked up the massage, while Krystina had moved over to Luba. After 30 minutes our bodies were pummelled loose, and we were shining with oil.

Vera handed us both fresh white towels, told us that our next stop was 30 minutes in the dry sauna and then they would polish us up afterwards. We were led out the other side down a short hall and Kristina opened a door to a modern wooden sauna, very different from our normal Russian mania. She threw water on the coals to up the heat, left us, pointing to the cold water pool just next door. The shelving was empty. Just us. For a moment we sat there like two shy adolescents next to each other on the middle level. We started giggling. I leant across and undid her towel. She did exactly the same to me.

This was supposed to be the next step in our nightmare, yet here we were with more time for each other. Saunas are not sexy places, not even in the first flower of love. The sweat poured off us, but they are wonderfully intimate when you are with the right person. Luba added more water to the coals, picked up a veniki of eucalyptus, pushed me face down on the second tier and began first rubbing them into my back then rhythmically beating me with them.

“Not quite Ludmila’s cane,” she whispered before flipping my body over, and let her work my front. I looked at her, and arched my body up offering myself for her beating. Our loving parody of what Arkady and Lumila were forcing on us, our parallel universe momentarily could continue, as I took the veniki and we repeated the process on Luba. I ended up simply lying on her, my head on her breast, hearts beating again.

“Up” she said,” we must not be understood by any of them,” and pushing me back she opened the door, and without hesitation she jumped in the cold pool. As I charged in after her, laughing, I realised there were two large middle aged women in the pool, and another much older lying like a beached whale on a lounger to the side. The cold water and the other women worked their shocking way, and we acted the slight, young hooligans we possibly were. We both giggled and splashed, then climbed out and went back into our private heat again.

On the dot, Kristina returned to find us properly towelled on either side of the sauna, and she took us back to Vera for a final work over. “Smooth as babies,” Vera muttered as she rather painfully tweezered out a final hair from between my buttocks. After which they sat us up to give me the first manicure of my life. Vera commented on the state of our feet, as she tried to tidy up dead skin and raw patches. “You do suffer, don’t you?” She commented sympathetically as she soaked and cut and worked at our damaged toes.

Luba and I glanced at each other.

Examining us with satisfaction, they handed us back our clothes, and took us back to the reception where, perched elegantly in skintight black leather trousers, high heeled boots and a thick woolen sweater, was Valentina. She fitted this place; the image of the perfect spa client with decisive make-up and hair tightly swept back in a bun, flicking through the new western fashion magazine.

“Dasha.” Her eyes swept over Luba. “Lovely. Both of you. Had fun?” The greeting was functional, filled with neither joy nor pleasure, a greeting for the ears of the receptionist. Nothing should seem out of the ordinary, not even the preparation of two sacrificial lambs. I remembered her flat tone the night at the dacha. I had tried to explain to Luba earlier that Valentina knew what faced us and hated having any role in it, that she would quietly show us sympathy, but at the same time we were never to expect help, let alone trust her. She was broken. Yet I knew inside that this trapped woman might be our only hope of escape. Something about her handling of me in the bathroom at the dacha that first evening told me that if there was any chance of getting me out of their clutches, she would be part of it.

Now she was all business, even down to having a few roubles to drop in the attendant’s bowl as we gathered our coats and were hustled into the back of the waiting Volga. It was the same silent driver, and I could tell that Luba had recognised him too. “Now for clothes,” Valentina turned to tell us, this time with the hint of a smile. No more. She said nothing to the driver. The car was silent as we rumbled our way across town over the partially cleared roads. Valentina had brought fear again with her. Luba’s fingers found mine under the coat.

We stopped outside a small parade of shops, a new supermarket next to some deserted fronts, but one on the end had a couple of mannequins just visible about the snow piled against the window absurdly in bikini and sunglasses. Clearly a place for those with the Mediterranean on their minds in mid-winter, not for the masses trudging their way back to their flats. Inside, after hanging up our coats, the space we entered was less a shop than a plush warm studio space with thick theatrical curtains hanging over various doors in and out, and a floor layered with rich carpets from Central Asia. To the side were two delicate chaise longue for customers.

We were greeted by three young assistants, all smiling slim in elegant uniforms of white blouses and black tailored trousers and scrapped back hair. We were not invited to sit. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, through a curtain to the left came a sharp faced dark haired woman in her forties, dressed in fine pale linen trousers and a lovely white silk high buttoned blouse with a broach at the neck.

“Ah, Arkady’s new girls. Very lovely,” she appraised us both in a moment, then looked across to Valentina, who she clearly knew. “He wants the full range for both of them?”

“Yes, Madame Natasha.” Valentina had taken up a place in the corner, eyes lowered, hands behind her as if prepared to fall to her knees at the slightest gesture. I trembled a little firmly back in their world. “Master Arkady requested they both have something to wear for this evening’s reception too.”

“Well we’d better get on with it then. Let’s get them measured up,” she instructed two of the assistants. “Let’s start with her. Luba, Is it? Dasha, go and wait next to Valya there.”

She gestured dismissively at me, and I found myself standing hands behind my back, eyes lowered next to Valentina, almost waiting for the instruction to take up position 1. In the middle of the room, Luba was stripped without much ado, and Madame, tape measure in hand began shouting out measurements to a girl holding a clip board. The process was thorough, not just waist and leg and bust, but nipple to groin, pubic bone to neck, wrists. When Luba was done, we swapped places. Luba, still naked, so incongruously pale but shining from the morning treatment, took up her place next to Valentina.

“So delicate,” Madame commented on me as she wielded her tape measure up and down and round and across my body, prodding and poking, passing on the relevant numbers. At the end both of our feet were measured and sized to complete the process.

Satisfied, Madame called on the girls to bring out basics, which were laid out on a counter, while she perched herself on a chaise longue, calling Luba and me to stand arms to our sides in front of her. “Both so slim, in particular this one,” she commented to Valentina while poking me with a rule, “The final collars and cuffs will have to be specially made to fit. But let's see them in corsets first.”

From behind I felt the assistant slide a corset round me. The dark reinforced material reached from the hip bone to just under my breasts; the assistant then began to pull at laces behind. I had never worn anything like this before, and found myself breathing deep and deeper as little by little my breasts were forced up and my insides cramped. Madame ran her hand up my left hip and urged tighter as I began to struggle to cope. “Your waist will be so delightful,” she smiled, looking up “They will love you. In heels and stockings, they’ll wet themselves over this waist drawn in even without any tits.” I was panting too much to blush, but managed to hold position, as she moved onto Luba. “You’ll be amazing too when fully outfitted, such bones. And your arms and hands.” Once again the strings were pulled tight this time to greater effect in the tit department. “We may need to construct a special corset or two to fully display these but these will do for now.”

She ran her hand under Luba’s breasts, then studied the two of us standing still, our waists drawn in obscenely presenting breasts and buttocks. There was no question she had the right to touch us exactly how and where she wished. With a flick of her hand she signalled to the two hovering assistants to undo the corsets, while the third brought her a cup of tea. She lit a cigarette. She casually asked Valentina, who was still standing quietly in the corner: “For what are the girls wanted for this evening?’

“I think it is a mayoral cocktail reception, Madame, to present them before the winter gala for which they are selected to perform.”

“Let's see the gauze tunics first, then we can think about this evening. Black for the redhead, and the emerald for this little one, I think”. The corsets were off, and the girl behind me pulled the lightest wisp of green down over my head with spaghetti straps and a tie at the waist to give it some shape. We were like Greek or Roman slaves. The slip barely existed, my nipples standing hard already through the material and with the hem finishing a few centimetres below my sex. Madame examined Luba’s and then mine, casually suggesting to the hovering girls little adjustments, particularly when we turned. “Yes a centimetre longer so the crease of the buttocks is not immediately on show.”

She sipped her tea as the slips were removed for adjustments, and considered our bodies again.

"You both seem well prepared for service,” she commented, running a finger down the inside of my thighs. “Valentina can tell you of course what happens if you do not obey.” She could feel my little shiver. “Fear or arousal, my dear?” She smiled at my shamed silence. “A bit of both is best, no doubt.”

She had clearly been making decisions while musing. “Let’s fit the empire line mini for this one,” she said pointing to Luba, “and the Chinese silk on her, if she is not too small.” The assistants retreated; we stood silent as Madame lit a cigarette, calling for an ashtray. “Have you told them your story, Valentina?” She glanced across the room.

“No, Madame,” she whispered from behind me.

“Well at least, you seem to have learnt now, my dear, even if sadly a little too late.” She ground the butt into the ashtray, looking over behind us with some sympathy. “Never underestimate these people,” she said half under her breath turning back to us, so quietly as if fearing she was saying too much.

Luba and I had not moved.

Standing up, she brightly asked Valentina, “So, what are you required to serve in tonight?”

“Corset, collar and boots, Madame.”

“Not at the reception then? Ah good, Kasia, thank you.” She took a slip of burgundy silk from one of the assistants returning into the room through the curtains along with a pair of matching pumps. “Shoes first,” the girl leant down and slipped my feet into them. “A little big I fear but you will have to manage for tonight.”

My calves and thighs were taut as in the posture classes with Ludmilla Petrovna. Then Madame slipped the beautiful silk dress from behind coming round the front to do up a long set of miniature buttons down the front. The material felt desperately sexy against my pampered skin. She stood back. “Length good,” she commented, as it fell to mid thigh. “Too short and they can look like bath robes. The lines are right but I think, Kashia, just a little pull in under the arms, since Arkady will like the nipples more clearly defined, so people know she is naked underneath. Otherwise, delicious.”

As Kasia began undoing the buttons to take the dress away, another girl carried in a bright emerald dress for Luba. A small tight corset lifted her breasts somehow framing her pale chest and neck, an expanse of flesh against long tight sleeves. Below the material flowed out down to the top of her thighs, leaving her firm slim legs on show. The most delicate curtsy would reveal everything particularly when her heels were on. Hugely theatrical, Madame had caught Luba perfectly. We would appear together but in total contrast. Again a couple of notes were made for adjustments and the dress was taken away.

“You can dress again. Go and wait over there with Valentina.” With that she simply walked out into the back, leaving the three of us standing along the far wall. Silent.

I felt rather than saw Valentina shaking slightly. I heard Luba whisper: “Please, tell us what happened to you?”

“Not here,” she mouthed just as one of the assistants came back through the curtains to pick up the two gauze outfits, glancing up amused at the three figures standing obediently in line.

“What do they do to you?” she asked, facing us.

At that moment the hulk of the driver came through the front door, signalling for Luba and me to follow. “Valya, ring me when the clothing is ready and I’ll come and pick you up.” The tone was peremptory, and the assistant retreated behind the curtain, while we followed the driver picking up coats on the way. We drove a few blocks down to the frozen river and ended up outside one of the modern blocks that had gone up in the past few years, which I had never seen inside. “This is where I was brought last time,” whispered Luba. I could hear my heart again. I was sure Luba could too. I grabbed her hand a moment before the driver opened the door to let us out and led us up to the front door. He tapped in an entry code and took us to a shiny modern lift. He pushed for the top floor, and left us.

As the lift went up, Luba turned to me and took my face in her hands, looking into my eyes. “Always remember.” I was left breathless, and when the lift stopped, was still recovering. Waiting at the door was the excited face of Ludmila Petrovna.

“Ah, the two stars,” she guided us into a living area that looked out across the expanse of white that was the frozen River Tom. I stared out at the emptiness bounded in the far distance by lines of trees while Ludmilla offered us tea and something to eat. From the kitchen she asked: “Had fun? The spa is amazing, no? And Madame Natasha?”

Her tone suggested she was celebrating an exciting day out with the kids. She ignored our silence, returned with a tray of little cakes and three cups of tea, which she settled on a coffee table. When she saw us standing facing her, uncertain whether to present, she made a face, motioning for us to sit down.

“Tonight, Arkady Antonovich is hosting a formal reception in the town hall, with guests from Moscow and Petersburg for a huge investment he is making here. You will be my. guests, as our new up and coming stars performing at the Winter Gala. I will expect you to be on your best behaviour.”

She paused. “After the reception, I believe Arkady wants to present you to a few of his friends and investors in more intimate surroundings.” She floated over our silence. “So I thought after tea, we could quickly go through your positions, before dressing for the party. You never know if they will be required with Arkady,” she added almost flippantly. We knew it was for her own amusement.

After a grim few minutes sipping tea and half choking on a bit of cake, she had us clear space in front of the sofa, strip and begin exercising positions one to three as she watched carefully. At one point in position one, she ran her hand between my legs. “Ah so much nicer with you totally smooth now. Your arousal is so much on display now.” She wiped her hand on my thigh. “You are so lovely, Dasha, the way your body responds to obedience. Luba responds less obviously, though her nipples go delightfully taut.

We were in position three, holding our buttocks wide to ‘offer cunt and arsehole’ as Ludmilla Petrovna liked to remind us, when a bell rang to warn of the arriving lift. “Don’t move,” she ordered, moving out of the. room. “Ah Valya, you have everything? Good.” she commented as they both came into the main room, and I could hear packages being laid on the sofas.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked as if we were not there displaying ourselves.

“Thank you Madame, that would be lovely,” she replied.

She remained standing until Ludmilla returned. “Cheeks wider please, Luba,” Madame commented, before discussing our bodies, the sauna, the proposed dresses as well as appropriate make up for the two of us that evening. I stayed motionless, remembering Valentina under the table in the dacha. This was our future. Would they want us like this later in front of the guests? I flushed into the floor, knowing my sex would betray me with arousal. The humiliation did work on me, as Ludmilla Petrovna never failed to point out. After about ten minutes, spread and on show, she told us to relax. “On the floor. We can’t have you marking the sofas,” she laughed, throwing us our blouses to put on.

Talking to Valentina, she said stroking our faces, “I must go home to change. Have them both ready in an hour. Ok?” And left.

We stared up at Valentina, both clearly terrified. She put a finger to her lips, looking around, then motioned us to follow her into the small galley kitchen. There she switched on the radio to pop music.

“They look and they listen everywhere, but I think no cameras in this place. But always be careful.” She signalled us to sit on the counter, and stood at our knees so we could hear her soft voice. “First tonight. I think you are just on show. Ludmilla was being her usual sadist self getting you to present for her. From what I understand it is only me serving Master Arkady and his investors, but everyone will of course know what you are, or what you soon will be.”

She shook her head sadly, looking from Luba to me.

We sat perched on the damp surface like startled birds. Luba blurted out all in a rush: “Who are you? What happened to you? How long? What will…”

Valentina put a finger to Luba’s lips. “Shhh. I will tell you. I suspect they want me to tell you, as a warning. I am from Altai, south of here, but Madame Natasha saw me in town one day, and asked me to come and model her outfits. She wanted photos. She paid well. One day Arkady Antonovich came in with his latest girl, and took a fancy to me, even there in front of her. I am no innocent, but I didn’t want to be with a gangster, and simply brushed him off. Madame Natasha warned me not to be so blase, but I resisted his people, when he sent them round to invite me to a couple of events. I did not take the threats seriously.”

She sighed so deeply, my stomach turned.

“One night, the FSB came to my house and simply arrested my mother and father. For nothing. The next day they lost their jobs. I was invited again to meet Arkady. This time I went and was told it was my fault, punishment for my insolence. He made it totally clear: what happened to them next depended on me. He said the same went for my two pretty sisters, whose photos he had on the table between us. Here the carrot was offered. He would pay for their studies but now only if I gave myself to him.”

She looked out of the kitchen window into the blank whiteness. She swallowed and continued refusing to feel sorry for herself. I reached out to touch her arm but she shrugged me off. “Master keeps his deals I think. Mum got a better job. My sisters are loving studying in Academegorodok.

“And I have kept mine, even if I had no idea what ‘total’ meant. He quickly made clear I was no girlfriend, but he wanted me as his ‘servant’. For three weeks I was held out at the dacha and broken in by Mistress Ludmila, who made clear that my body and mind were for his use and anyone he might wish. She taught me with her cane how to serve as a maid, and then how to sexually serve anyone in any way they might wish.

Luba glanced at me in recognition.

She smiled ruefully: “One promise I think he will not be able to keep, is to release me someday. Men forget discretion with a slave sucking their dicks. Arkady has discovered he has tastes he can fulfil with me, and perhaps now you, without any repercussions. He has people in every part of the city. He has police and teachers, people at the airport and railway station, everywhere and everyone, as Dasha learnt the other night.”

She sighed. “Trust no one. Not even me. This is my life now, not a terrible one if you forget your dreams and your pride. I am well fed, wear wonderful clothes and” and here she laughed sardonically, ”get regular sex. What more can a girl want?” She shrugged helplessly.”I am sorry, but you really must never hope that I can help you much. Certainly not to escape them.”

She came to a halt, her eyes fixed on ours. We sat there as the light fell. We had known all of this but none of it. “You, Dasha, are his prize, as I think you know. I heard them talking afterwards in the dacha. Master and Ludmilla had no idea you were a virgin, untouched. You, Luba, they love for your look, but to them are already a whore like me.” She laughed bitterly, and pulled us off the sides, and uncomfortably hugged us. “Now I must prepare you perfectly for the slaughter, for as Master said the other night, I will be punished for any of your failures.”

She turned and switched off the music, and took us into the bedroom, pointing me to the edge of the bed while sitting Luba at a dressing table.

“You,” she turned to me, “only a touch of lipstick, perfume and a little eyeliner. This one we turn into an actress.” She went back to the main room and brought in the various hangers and bags. I sat silent, deliberately not communicating anything to Luba for Valentina to pick up; as she had said, she was not to be trusted. Valentina unpacked the three outfits on the bed carefully. Nothing was said, but when she was finished I stood and silently hugged her. There were tears in her deep dark eyes.

She picked up a bag of cosmetics, laying them out in clear order on the table, and then began working on Luba, eyeliner, blush, lipstick, bringing out the colours in her. “They taught me this along with taking it up the arse.” She undid Luba’s blouse, picked up a bottle of perfume and sprayed her ears, then her breasts and finally her sex.

I swapped places with Luba, and with just a touch of lipstick and the perfume in the right places was done in minutes. She smiled a moment at the two of us, mute on the bed, took off her own clothes and began her own make up. Everything was even bolder than Luba’s, almost goth, and in addition she began to rouge her nipples and her labia. After a minute or two, her labia were offering themselves as much as her mouth. Her shame in our presence was obvious but she got on with it without saying anything, then pointed to the dresses and shoes.

“Luba first.” I watched as she helped her into the stunning dress, arranging the material across the top of her breasts, smoothing down the sleeves, then moving behind her to pull the strings on the narrow inbuilt corset. Then she knelt, handing the feet carefully into the heeled sandals. My dress was simpler, seemingly more modest up to the neck, but as Valentina carefully buttoned, I felt how the dress had been tightened so it clung to my body from the shoulders down. In moments my nipples were firmly stretching through the material. Luba and I retreated to one side of the bed, as Valentina turned to herself, picked up some stockings, which she smoothed up her legs to her thighs. Towering high heels followed with ankle straps to keep them in place, then a black corset with suspenders to frame her rouged sex.

“Please, really tight,” she gestured to Luba, turning round and encouraging her to pull harder on the laces. “If Ludmilla does not think it is hurting me enough, she will redo it herself”. Her shape changed with every tug. The rouged nipples above and labia below made proud. Happy with the constriction, she bent gingerly down to pick up a black leather collar that rested on her collar bone and stretched her neck forcing her chin high, her whole body now a straight vulnerable line from heel through corset to head.

“We only have five minutes.” Her voice seemed strained by her collar and she pointed to a bag. Inside were three floor length capes. “Do not put them on, but take them in the front room. We must be ready to present to Madame Ludmilla, the capes folded before us.” There was urgency in her voice, the fear and knowledge of what would happen if all three of us were not in the right place on time.

We knelt in a line facing the entrance after thirty virtually silent minutes preparing our bodies, guided by this frightened broken woman. I was in a seemingly prim Chinese dress, Luba theatrically offering pale chest and legs, while Valya’s painted openings and rouged breasts were obscenely offered to anyone who looked. I wanted to cry. I worried that tears would make the mascara run. I took Luba’s hand and squeezed my nails hard into her palm, knowing Valentina trapped in her impossibly high collar could not possibly see.

The lift door opened without warning. We all snapped erect as Ludmila Petrovna and the lawyer emerged into the room, she in a dark blue ballgown with split-thigh, and he in a smart Italian suit and tie. ‘What a sight. The slave, the whore and the geisha,” he chuckled, taking us all in but wandering over to Valentina and twisting her nipple viciously between two fingers.

Ludmila stood back and examined us, rather more critically. “Stand, Dasha, position one.” I rose as gracefully as possible given the heels, and slid my hands behind my neck. “Delightful. The nipples tell such a story. Curtsey, girl.” She watched as I opened my knees and raised the tight skirt up over my slim hips. “Remember both of you, if ordered to curtsey, you do not lower until permitted.” She turned to the lawyer for advice. “Genady, don’t you think we should paint her cunt lips like Valya here? She looks like some priest’s daughter now. I suppose, Luba, you are clean down there too?” She casually raised the short skirt of Luba’s dress with the toe of her boot to look at the sex. “Slave, get the rouge and paint these cunts properly. They’ll soon be as used as yours after all.”

“Yes, Madame.”

The lawyer released the nipple and left for the kitchen. “There’s some wine in the fridge,” she said, before turning back to us. “Luba, up and curtsey.” Valya returned knelt first before Luba and began applying a rouge stick to her sex. She then, stunningly gracefully given how she was dressed, moved onto me. I could feel the stick work on my labia, and my sex responding.

“Wet again, is she?” inquired Madame Ludmilla as she accepted a glass of white wine from Genady.

“Yes Madame,” Valya reported as her fingers pulled on my labia.

Taking the rouge stick from Valya, she smelt it. “This one really responds. I always suspected she was a slut, who’ll also respond to pain. A pain-slut.” I blushed not knowing what she meant. “And so delightfully modest with it.”

“Now Valya, let’s check you. You two may lower your dresses. On your knees,” she dismissively ordered us

As we went down, Valley smoothly rose and presented to Madame, who tried and failed to get a finger in the top or the bottom of the corset. Irritated at being unable to find fault, she sipped her wine, turned to the sitting Genady, “It is such a pity that Arkady Antonovich won’t let us ring her. Nipple and labia chains would make this look so much more dramatic.”

She glanced at her watch. “We should be going. Genady, be a gentleman and help the young ladies into their cloaks.” The cloaks, black, heavy and straight, hung from a simple neck clasp, covering our bodies completely. Ludmila snapped cuffs on Valya attaching them to the front of her corset so when Valya moved towards the lift, the cloak opened wide, obscenely offering her painted body.

Chapter 8

I had only once been in the Town Hall before, with my father as a little girl in Soviet times. I remembered the huge portrait of Lenin at the top of the grand entrance stairs. Now instead there was a banner picture hanging down of the plant that Arkady Antonovich was celebrating this evening, though his name and face was nowhere to be seen. Ludmilla Petrovna enjoyed creating a stir with her two girls mounting the stairs into the main hall, in which there was a stage and screen and lines of chairs.

During the proceedings, a short film and a few speeches, Arkady was not mentioned once, nor did he go up on stage, preferring to sit with a large blonde woman to the side of the hall, a couple of rows in front of the three of us. The audience was made up of dignitaries, men in suits, overdressed women and uniforms, military and police, which perhaps explained the armed security guards surrounding the building and also placed in the corners of the room. Were they for the Generals or for Arkady?

We must have been twenty years younger than almost anyone in the room, except the waitresses. I sat half listening to the empty words from these boring men, intensely aware of my naked sex on the seat. Madame had reminded us, with a knowing wink, to lift the back of our skirts so as not to mark them. My skill would certainly have stained. I was thinking of Luba among the rugs, when she tugged at me to stand and follow her. I caught the words "generously sponsoring our winter gala this year. To mark that here is Siberia’s famous ballerina, Madame Ludmilla Tuchevskaya with her two newest proteges. Looking wonderfully elegant in her blue gown showing just enough of her lovely legs, Madame led us up into the spotlight onto the platform, one on either side of her.

I have gotten used to performance, but the intake of breath across the room followed by applause, was a little startling. For a mad moment, I imagined Luba and I slave-curtsying to them all, showing our brightly painted sexes, and giggled, which the audience thought was a charming response. Ludmila talked about our ambitions and the planned gala, and generously about our ballet teacher, Polina Nikolaevna and her studio classes forming the basis for a new generation. A minute later we were back in our seats, and the formal presentation was over.

As the crowd made for the bar at the back, we remained to the side of the hall under one of the huge soviet murals. After a waitress brought some juices, Ludmila disappeared into the crowd of admiring fans. Master Arkady came over with a couple of men, one of whom I recognised as the FSB colonel who had taken Valentina at the dacha. Relaxed and avuncular, he complimented us on our dresses. “Madame Natasha has done you proud. Will be seeing you both later perhaps,” he managed without the least hint of anything untoward. A couple of uniforms followed to compliment us, an excuse for the sixty year old men to eye up a couple of bashful girls. Certainly they gawped at Luba’s pale chest.

Then suddenly there was a much younger man, complimenting us both with a broad generous smile. “Everyone is so boring here,” he said above the noise, “and not surprisingly you two look suitable bored too.”

He was staring at me. Luba garbled some sort of reply while I simply felt myself go bright red. He was unlike anyone around, tall, slim, with an easy smile and a generous mouth surrounded by a tightly trimmed beard. His suit and open white shirt felt foreign and, very unusually for Tomsk, fitted perfectly. Not a man from around here. The amused look in his cool grey green eyes breathed confidence.

“My father said I might find the formalities tonight a bit dull, but he did suggest there might be other attractions in Siberia.” The tone was conversational, slightly flirtatious. “I’ve never been before. What should I visit while I’m in town?”

Their eyes stroked me. What could a sophisticated man like this find interesting? His eyes held, waiting for an answer. Somehow out of a dry mouth, I managed: “If you have time there is the skiing into the forests.” He nodded but looked unimpressed. Inspiration came: “There is our exotic botanical gardens, Sir, which are housed inside and are very special.” His generous response gave me the confidence to flirt back, “Then of course our ballet.” I pouted, dipping a little demure curtsey. He laughed and bowed. I looked round for support, and was shocked to see Luba had disappeared, seemingly called by Madame to meet some bemedaled General, who clearly wanted a closer look at her breasts.

“Well, at least you haven’t recommended the crafts museum like everyone else.” He joked, gesturing disparagingly across the room. My throat was parched. I sipped my juice, he his glass of wine. His eyes openly acknowledged seeing the nipples through my dress, which only made them harder. It was not vulgar staring, but the confidence of a man who knew women. I shuffled slightly on my heels, wanting to explain the dress fearing he saw me as vulgarly provincial. With a confidence I did not have, I looked him up and down.

“May I ask who you are?”

“How rude I have been. Star-struck I think.” Almost clicking his heels to make me laugh, he introduced himself: “Evgenny Dimitrovich Tsarvoulanov, visiting from Moscow on behalf of my father’s company which is hoping to invest in this outrage.” He gestured up at one of the utopian planning posters up on the wall. “There’s no way when we fuck up the taiga, anything built here will look like that.” I liked the straightforward anger in his voice.

He paused, sipped some more of his wine.

”You are Daria, I think?” I nodded uncertainly, concerned about how he knew my name, but then relaxed, realising it had been announced earlier. “Daria Nikolaevna Filatova.” I tried to find out who he was, this Evgenny Dimitrovich, but he parried me away with complimentary questions about my dancing ambitions; I even found myself talking of wanting to be a lawyer one day. He managed to feel genuinely interested, never looking over the shoulder to see if anyone more important or interesting was around to talk to. Though my sharp nipples did attract some of his regular attention. He took another sip of wine, as if considering something.

“Well, will you take me tomorrow?”

“Where?” I stuttered wondering what he was referring to. “Oh the gardens? I was joking, Sir, I am afraid you will find them very provincial and that I will be a useless guide. In fact I have not been since getting lost inside the jungle there as a six year old.”

“Useless maybe, but so beautiful and charming.” Our eyes locked for a moment. I was befuddled by this delightful man, and began fiddling with the buttons on my dress. He was serious.

Without warning Madame returned, muttering to Luba, “You and Dasha must learn to display yourselves for the gentlemen. Slaves never slouch.” She stopped, startled, when she saw Evgenny. I knew he had heard. A cloud passed across his face. Then a glint of understanding. I blushed beetroot and looked down. He paused, measuring up Ludmilla Petrovna.

”Well Daria Nikolaevna, even you will not agree, I can hope perhaps that Arkady Antonovich will be able to spare your services for an hour or two to be my guide.” My stomach dropped and my shoulders crumpled, tears of shame came to my eyes, as the young man gave me a look I could not read, and turned away.

“Who was that handsome young man, Dasha?” Ludmilla inquired a little querulously, aware she had misstepped.

“I’ve no idea Madame. Says he is visiting from Moscow.” Peculiarly I found myself protecting him and our little conversation from her, hoarding any little secrets in a life she had revealed to be stripped bare. I tried to find him in the crowd. There had been a moment. Something there between us, before the cloud had passed over his face. I so wanted to tell Luba about him, to hold her hand, but we continued to stand slightly apart, on display, both dreading what was to come later that evening. Twenty minutes later, one of the security guards came across the room, spoke briefly to Madame who pouted with disappointment, and simply told us to follow the man.

At the bottom of the grand stairs, the man collected our cloaks, and we were escorted by one of the armed men to the Volga that was spewing exhaust into the freezing night. Once inside, I grabbed Luba’s hand under our cloaks, again digging my nails in as hard as I could. Letting go, she did the same, though we both stared silently as the two men in front drove us through the night towards the river, pulling up in front of one of the big traditional wooden houses, that were the last reminders of a pre-revolutionary world. Unlike Luba’s aunt’s, this had armed guards who emerged from a little security box to check our identities before opening the electronic gates.

Unlike her aunt’s, this house had clearly been completely modernised, We were admitted to a huge dark polished front hall by a grey haired housekeeper in a button up dress, who took our cloaks and then pointed us to a grand panelled front room, where there was a roaring fire surrounded by a semi-circle five leather armchairs. To the side was an oblong table piled with food from caviar to salmon to salads, all sparkling under a row of candles. Behind the table, Valentina, corseted with nipples and sex painted as we had left her, was ensuring the bottles, alongside the wine and vodka glasses were all lined up straight.

She smiled softly in the half light, “Have fun?” Earlier, she had disappeared when Madame Ludmilla had taken us to the Town Hall. “Now for the harder part of your evening,” she whispered as we tried to take in the grand surroundings with gilt framed pictures and bookcases all around.

At that moment the housekeeper came to the door, looked at Valya and nodded towards the fireplace: “Master and the guests will be here in five minutes.” Valya blanched a moment, and hurriedly guided us in front of the fire, signalling to kneel as we had done earlier, motioning us either side of her.

“Eyes lowered at all times, except when told. Do not look up. If ordered to greet, they expect a slave curtsey and hold it until ordered to release.” I could not help watching her breasts rise and fall under the constriction of the corset as she gave her urgent instructions. Arkady Antonovich had made her responsible for us after all. She fell silent and still, perfectly arched with the sound of the front door opening, and men entering. I could feel a gust of cool air across my stomach while at my back the fire was roasting me. Out in the hallway, the housekeeper greeted the Master and his guests, “Everything prepared in the lounge, Sirs, Madam. Ring if anything else is required.”

Master Arkady thanked her politely, as my brain scrambled. I could hear heels on the wooden floor. A woman? Madame Ludmilla? Then footsteps into the room. Terror. I tried to think of Luba’s warm hands, but instead images of Arkady’s ice-cold stare and Ludmilla holding a cane emerged from the thick Persian carpet a foot in front of me.

A light tinkle of surprise perhaps tinged with embarrassment came first. The Master quickly inquired if ‘Tatyana Pavlova’ was comfortable with slave service. So it was not Madame Ludmila but another woman, clearly not used to such a display. Tatyana replied that her husband had told her what to expect at Arkady’s home, but the reality remained a bit of surprise. “If the maid upsets you, Tatyana, please do say,” Arkady reassured her, asking Valya to rise. I felt Valya slide up gracefully, leaving the two of us on the carpet, moving forward and curtsey, greeting them in turn. “Good evening, Madame Tatyana, Masters Genady, Timofei and Sir?” She finished on a higher questioning note, clearly not recognising the final guest.

“Valentina, this is Evgenny Dimitrovich.” Arkady informed her as if everything was entirely normal.

I wanted to be swallowed up in the carpet, knowing how Valentina was displayed to them all, and startled at how she managed to keep a formal even tone. “There is food and drink on the table there, but please do be seated and we can serve you in your seats. As Master Arkady said, I am Valentina, and that is Daria in the burgundy dress, and Luba in the emerald. I believe you were introduced to them earlier in the town hall.”

My eyes remained locked to the pattern on the carpet, tears of shame in my eyes. Shadows moved towards us across the carpet, and a pair of black shoes paused just in front of me with the smart Italian suit trousers moving them, before settling down into the seat to my right. I simply could not look up. I did not want to. Next to the black shoes, the women’s heels filled my eyeline, as she continued talking, clearly not really at ease with what she was seeing: “So Valentina is your ‘what’? Your serf property, Arkady? Bogdan talked about you and your girls. But I can’t say I fully understood.” There was a tinkle of a giggle. “She is gorgeous, isn’t she?” She was producing a scatter-gun of nervous comments.

Arkady came from the table behind the chairs, carrying drinks for her and the man to my right, saying: “Of course she is. Please do relax. Ignore her.”

“Difficult to ignore,” she snorted.

In his calm way, Arkady continued: “You may look. You may touch. You may use as you like. Or you may ignore.The delight of having slaves, my dear Tatyana.”

Valya’s heels appeared just in front of me, clearly signalled to present before the woman.

“You always keep her like this?” Arkady had clearly moved back to the food table. “No of course not, but I wanted her at her best for you.” I was intensely conscious the man to my right was silent and still.

Clearly touching or pointing at the cinch corset that had taken her waist in so far, Tatyana commented on how it must hurt. Valya answered, “Yes Madame, but Master likes me this way.”

As if suddenly understanding and accepting what was in front of her, Tatyana asked simply: “Do you beat her, Arkady, like a serf?”

Arkady replied, “Naturally.”

“Is that fun?”

“It is. Perhaps you would like to beat her later, after we finish our business.”

Totally still, eyes lowered, I remember how Valya had told us that as a slave you learn so much even with a cock in your mouth. In these moments I had understood that Tatiana, for all her discomfort, was the person Arkady was really doing business with. Genady, I knew was the lawyer, and I had picked up that Timofei was a local Tomsk partner of some sort. The silent Evgenny to my right I could not tell, though I knew he was representing his father and had come from Moscow.

“Evgenny, you want to eat?”

In a calm assured voice, he asked for some borscht and bread.

Arkady called Valya over to help serve the food. To replace her, he instructed Luba to rise, curtsey and greet the guests.

Tatyana chirped up: “And these are the two dancers you presented at the public meeting, no? So pretty. Are they yours too? Oh wow, you too…”:

While she was talking, Luba had stood, moved forward and clearly curtsied, her painted lower lips now fully on display which had driven the woman to silence. As Luba formally greeted each of the guests, I wanted to die, knowing I would have to do the same, and that Evgenny would already know that I was probably decorated in the same way under my dress.

Timofei chimed over to Arkady: “I have not seen this one before.”

“No. She is one of Ludmilla Petrovna’s, a dancer with real talent….look how those legs open,” he laughed. The vulgarity was new as they began to drink.

“She’s wet,” observed Timofei.

“Clearly at the prospect of you getting your hands on her,” Arkady joked. “Luba, you may lower your skirt and help serve drinks please.”

Arkady moved back and took his seat in the circle, as Valya walked across in front of me to offer the soup and bread to Evgenny. “Now perhaps before we get down to business, shall we examine the treasure? Or after?”

“I think before,” came the firm confident voice to my right as I caught Valya’s heels circling back round behind the guests chairs.

“Would you like to do the honours, Evgenny?”

The treasure? I felt like a hamster on a wheel.

“Present and greet, Master Evgenny, please Dasha.”

For a moment I did not move, then, trying to stand, stumbled, but finally managed to turn towards him, eyes still lowered. My shame was so total I almost forgot what was expected next, but finally pulled up the hem of my dress across my hips and curtseyed.

“Greetings Master Evgenny, Mistress Tatyana….”

Arkady stopped me. “Lift your head girl and greet everyone properly. Now lower your dress and start again.”

There was a titter of amusement but the sound of the fire drowned my ears, as I lowered the dress and turned to face, raising my face to the handsome young man with the lovely eyes. I held his eyes, my heart pounded, and lifted the skirt again opening my knees wide. “Greetings, Master Evgenny.” He watched my eyes a beat too long, a flash of sympathy, then lowered his eyes to my sex, to my brightly painted lower lips.

Again a beat. “Quite lovely, Arkady,” he gestured over to his host. In that moment I knew this was not new to him. “The modesty and obscenity is delicious.”

I wanted to be swallowed up, but instead I began turning round to each of the others, seeing them for the first time, registering that Madame Tatyana had had a lot of work done to her face, but maintained a voluptuous body she was willing to display. The plastic work meant I could not tell if she was smiling or shocked at my presentation. I thought, a perfect client for the Spa, before turning on. I went round the others and then stood in the centre, eyes raised at Luba who was standing behind the middle chair with a tray of food.

It was Evgenny who stood and came over behind me. I shook in terror.

“Position one,” he instructed quietly. I slipped my hands behind my neck, and the skirt slipped unevenly back to cover my sex. I smelt him, the same man I had playfully flirted with just a couple of hours earlier. Now he stood behind me, a presence, in control. Tears came to my eyes, as his hands reached round and began slowly to unbutton my dress from the neck for the others to watch. The room was silent, transfixed at the performance.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered in my ear, as he worked slowly down.

“Experienced I see, Evgenny,” cut in Arkady, smiling and clearly impressed.

“Yes, Has dad never invited you to the dacha in Moscow?”

His hands still circling my body had got down to the waist, the dress opening to reveal my breasts, yet his body at once dominating and somehow protecting me. I wanted to run, to escape but equally to hide in him. The dress fell open to the waist.

Tatiana could not resist giggling at my non-existent bust but Evgenny breathed evenly as he continued down. I felt that if he actually touched my skin, I would be electrocuted.

“I don’t think I have ever come across such a mix of beauty, elegance and desire, Arkady.”

With a little flourish, the last button was ripped off and tinkled across the floor as he allowed the dress to fall away, leaving me naked before them all. He reached down, picked up the dress and returned to his seat, laying it on the arm. There was an amused smattering of applause from the men.

“Position two, Daria, eyes down,” he said, and I slid as gracefully as I could to my knees before them all, feeling like I had a new master, feeling like a natural slave. “What a perfect introduction to business, Arkady.”

The spell was broken and Arkady turned serious.

I couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying, with the heat on my back from the fire and my front presented to these people, my sex a wet gash of painted pink. Yet they were now paying me no attention. In the shadows I could pick up Luba and Valentina moving among them, serving food and drinks. I could tell from the tone of the voices that this was Arkady Antonovich playing off Tatyana and Evgenny with older Timofei largely silent, but my brain could not take in what the issue was. Instead I was obsessed with whether my sex was dripping on the floor and why my nipples were so hard. At one point Valentina showed the Mistress off to the bathroom, and when Luba crossed to Evgenny’s chair with a cup of coffee, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand stroke her thigh up under her skirt. Luba froze and spilled some of the coffee on the floor.

“Clumsy.”

I sensed he was staring at me throughout this, searching for a reaction I was determined not to offer. Luba tried to apologise but was trapped by the hand, until Tatyana returned to take her seat, Evgenny removed the hand, suggesting to Arkady that when the discussion was resolved, their reward would be to see Luba naked. There was a deliberate challenge in the voice as if he was proving something, but to whom? To Arkady? A statement from him that “I am grown up”. The old man Timofei heartily agreed, while Tatyana playfully reminded Arkady that she wanted a chance to beat Vallya. Arkady, looking at me, commented that I must be very hot there by the fire for so long, and I should help the others serve when needed.

“Thank you, Master,” I rose and moved into the shadows, my back burning, to stand beside Luba and Valya, who were concentrating on any sign from the guests or the Master. I gently ran a finger down Luba’s thigh, and felt her move, then realised that though the discussion had restarted, Evgenny’s eyes were often on me. I poured a couple of coffees, shakily, and served a brandy to Genady in my newly naked state, but the evening had got serious, not confrontational but tense. Somewhere through the fog that my body lived in, came talk of bribes, foreign subsidies, the FSB, and tax authorities. After some time, the pressure lowered, and I picked up that Evgenny needed to speak to his father to make any final agreement. Tatyana who had been the most forceful presence seemed satisfied as did Master Arkady, who signalled something to Valentina, who left the room.

“Luba….in the middle.” Luba obeyed, took up position one, the only of the three of us still in her dress. “Now a little game. Dasha will remove her dress with her teeth. Hands held behind you. If you are clever you will find the clips and buttons that Madame Natasha places in all her slave dresses for me. If not we will get bored and have to punish you. Hurry now.”

I rushed into the middle of the room, hands held tightly behind my back, searching the dress with my eyes for the secret tags and strings Master was hinting at. I first went round the back and managed to untie the knots of the corset. Entertainment was all it was as I realised that the sleeves could be pulled apart along their length, so I knocked down her arms with my head, took a finger in my mouth to make her hold her arm out and worked along both sides as quickly as possible, loving the taste of her flesh. There was a little applause, though at one point I received a firm slap on the buttock to keep my legs wide so they could “see my cunt”. Then I dived into Luba’s decolletage and managed to pull back the front panel so her breasts fell out and the sleeves fell away leaving her topless. I have no idea quite what took hold of me, why I so wanted to succeed but a quick look round the waist revealed nothing and not wanting to simply pull with my teeth and rip the dress, took my head under her skirt.

Timofei chuckled at the sight. “Can’t resist her,” but sure enough I found a cord and pulled and the skirt fell apart over my head, leaving Luba, naked, her hands back behind her head. I knelt facing away to the side, catching my breath, recovering from my excitement, quietly folding the elements of Luba’s dress and sliding them away, but all time knowing Evgenny’s eyes were on me. Was I ashamed or proud? Behind me, Genady commented on how Luba had clearly enjoyed the game.

“Let’s have her cum for us,” he demanded.

Arkady's order was curt. “Dasha, with your mouth.”

I wondered if they knew. Did they? Did they know that I had only kissed a girl’s sex twice in my life….the night before. How could I do this simply for their amusement. I crawled back, I looked up and caught Luba’s eye and her flash of agreement, then looked at the smeared wetness of her sex. My tongue came out and flicked across the labia, and I felt her respond immediately to the audience's amusement. I flicked again, then ran my tongue up inside between the lips tasting everything she gave me. She pushed her hips back towards me. At some point I started nibbling along the bloated lips as I had the night before and then found her nub, and began diving with my tongue deep into her, nibbling and flicking on the nub, finding a rhythm with her stomach and hips which took me into my own world, ignoring the commentary and laughter from behind me. Loving her. For me and her. I could feel the build in her stomach rippling down towards my mouth. I pulled back a moment, saw the sweat sliding down between her breasts and the whole body of mine, and pushed my teeth and mouth back into her. Eventually she sort of exploded, almost collapsing at the knees, clamping her thighs on my head, wailing while all the time desperately trying to keep her position.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Luba hissed.

There was applause again, followed by Evgenny’s even voice cutting through: “You let your girls cum without permission, Arkady?” I felt Luba stiffen a little but she was still trying to recover, as I knelt still facing her dripping sex, my own mouth savouring the tastes. Through exhaustion and the waves of my own unsatisfied desire, I sensed he had misjudged, tried to prove something again.

With the avuncular steel I knew was Arkady at his most dangerous, the reply came, “These two are new. Their first outing. I think you should be happy with that performance.”

He signed for Luba to come stand by him, and, dipping his fingers deep into her pulsing sex, watched her continue to respond. “So delightful. Now Dasha, go and help Valya.” He withdrew his hand and wiped it across the stomach. “You, go help Master Timofeo recover from the stress.” I blanched as I saw Luba obediently walk over to the old man and kneel before him and begin to open his trousers under his large belly. I had to ignore it and went out into the cool hall away from the overwhelming heat of the lounge. Valentina was waiting with the housekeeper next to a short portable ballet barre.

She had redone her hair and make up above the stiff collar, and straightened the corset, stockings and heels. I looked down at the complete mess of my own body, my mouth and my sex smeared. The housekeeper silently signed for me to come to her. As she picked up a warm cloth and began thoroughly wiping me down like a child, raising my arms and legs, running the cloth across my torso, down between the legs and buttocks. She was brusque and efficient, and I submitted without even thinking. This stranger was free to probe and wipe at will. She picked up lipstick, carefully corrected my mouth, then, taking up a rouge stick, bent down and began rubbing it across my still bloated sex. She stood back and examined her handiwork.

“The Master demands perfection,” was all she said, as she finished repainting between my shaking thighs.

She balanced four straps and a long thin cane on my outstretched arms, and told me to present them to the Mistress. Not certain what was expected, I returned carefully into the heat of the lounge into a warm bubble of contented conversations. Luba’s head was bobbing held firmly between Master Timofei’s legs, while Master Arkady was consulting a document with Genady, The Mistress was in full flow with Evgenny, so I walked carefully between the chairs, and stood silent before her, careful not to interrupt. She glanced up but returned to the conversation, relaxed, sipping a cup of coffee. I stood there ignored, while bits of her advice on money transfers and tax havens floated through my brain, I was only concentrating on arching my back, my legs apart and keeping my aching arms still. Shocked, I could feel something dribble down the inside of my thigh along with a pulsing question inside me, “was it her or him I was trying to impress?” They continued chatting for a while, joking. I suddenly felt her finger run up between my labia, and realised with a shock it was not business but me they were now talking about, and how Arkady clearly had a wonderful supply of girls from the dance school.

 “So sweet and obedient,” she commented, her finger exploring inside. “I suppose the dance training helps. When did you start serious dance training, Dasha?” Surprised she was addressing me directly, it took a moment to respond.

“Since I was seven, Madame.”

She nodded thoughtfully, withdrew her finger and looked at the wetness before wiping it on my thigh. “The straps down beside the fire, then bring me the cane.” Aware of Evgenny’s eyes on my body, I searched for Madame Ludmilla’s mantra of grace and flow, letting it guide me as I turned carefully to lay the straps on the floor beside the fire, before returning to Madame Tatyana, kneeling eyes lowered lifting the cane to her laid flat on my palms. All really show for him.

“Thank you my sweet,” she said, picking up the cane. “Go and bring in the serf now.” Once again it took a moment for me to comprehend. As I passed Grenady’s chair, I saw Luba was now between his lawyer’s thighs, her buttocks provocatively on offer to the whole room. I wondered if she still found him, ‘quite cute’, the words she had first used to me to describe him. I flinched a moment in horror as Genady held her head, imagining how her small soft mouth could take the huge monsters so far.

I returned with Valya, placing the portable barre in front of the fire. The two of us stood at either end, presenting, just as Genady forced Luba’s head down violently with a loud grunt drawing everyone’s amused attention, clearly having his orgasm deep in Luba’s mouth. He pushed her away, her face and hair a smear of tears and cum. He casually slapped her, pulled her down again by the hair to wipe his glistening cock clean.

“Go and clean yourself up,” he ordered with no hint of gratitude as he zipped himself up. When Luba obeyed, as if for the next act, Tatyana stood, tapping the cane thoughtfully in her hand, looking Valya up and down, then over at her new friend Evgenny. “You have done this before?”

He nodded. “Taking your time is the secret, I find. Spread out the pain.” I knew he was still looking at me, that I was supposed to hear all this. Just as my service had been a display for him, I knew his words were for me. Tatyana took a step forward, ran the tip of the cane down Valya’s front, and signalled for me to remove the corset. “You may use your hands.” I went behind Valya and unlaced the corset, almost hearing the air come back into the woman’s body, then knelt carefully to unfasten the suspenders.

I noticed Evgenny leaving the room with Master Arkady and Timofei, as I peeled away the corset. Madame tapped the straps lying on the floor with the tip of the cane. It took me a while to cuff Valya’s ankles and attach them to two links at the bottom of the barre, stretching her pale body obscenely wide, leaving her anus and sex and buttocks totally on show. Valya then bent forward over the barre and grasped her ankles, her hair, breasts and hands hanging free.

Genady recovered from his orgasm, came over to examine the straps for Tatyana. Then casually running his hand up my back, he advised Tatyana to have me kneel beneath the slut and grip her hands. He had never touched me before; now he treated me as if I was totally available. His hand came round and ran over my breasts.

“Dasha is so new, it will be good for her to see how Valentina has learnt to cope over the months.”

So he pulled me down by the nipple he was holding to kneel below Valentian, just under face and breasts, ordering me to hold her hands tight. If she let go to defend herself, it would be my responsibility. Valya’s hair had come loose and fell down over my head and shoulders; under this soft dark curtain, I could see little except her calm face with beautiful brown eyes, her hanging breasts with large pink areolae and floor of the room between her wide-spread legs. I could see only Tatyana’s feet and legs as she walked around her victim, her heels clacking on the floor, and the tip of the cane in front of my eyes occasionally tapping the inside of the thighs. I could feel Valya’s tension down the arms, as she waited, then came a sudden swish and for a moment between the legs in front of me, the cane appeared and the whole body above contorted in shock. I clutched the arms tight, watching the breasts sway and Valya screwing her eyes tight shut, attempting to swallow the pain. After a moment she clearly said: “Thank you, Madame Tatyana.”

There was a pause. I could feel every sinew of self control mixed with dread down her arms, her eyes opened drowned in tears, and then the next stroke came, the pain transferring up and across her body. Once again the eyes screwed tight, the mouth twisted but still no sound from her, until another “Thank You Madame Tatyana”. Two more strokes with long gaps, and I thought of the truth of Evgenny’s cruel advice. The pain, the waiting, the tension of uncertainty, the pain again. Her breasts glistened with sweat. I sensed in her shadowy face a different battle; Valya was wanting to make her Master proud of her before this woman.

Tears began to fall on my upturned face but she would not scream, I reached up instinctively and licked some tears from the cheek tasting the salt, all the while keeping her arms stretched down. After seven strokes, the dam broke and the screams began: still thanking Madame but amidst howls of agony. Between the legs I could gather Tatyana’s comments to Genady, as the cane poked Valya’s sex in front of my nose. Tatyana wondered whether Valya could cum through the pain. Genady savagely pulled her head up by the hair, breaking our blind bond down under her hair: “Can you, slut?”

She squealed with shock. “I do not know, Master Genady, I have not been taught to cum to the cane”, she sobbed with no dignity or fight left. After twelve strokes, Madame had clearly had enough entertainment, and turned to Genady and left the room, without a word to either of us, Alone in the room I thought, I reached up under cover of the body and hair, and kissed Valya full on the mouth: “You are magnificent”, I whispered. She kissed me back, a desperate little smile through the agony.

I felt a gust of cold air. Out in the hall, nothing to do with us, goodbyes were being said, doors opened and closed. I peeked out between Valya’s legs and saw Luba, her make-up repaired, kneeling presenting beside an empty chair, her beautiful red hair spread loose now across her shoulders.

We remained three slaves now, all knowing not to move without permission. Used or left, it was not for us to decide.

Time meant nothing. Eventually Master Arkady returned to the room. I watched him come over to examine Valya, and felt her shudder as he traced the marks across her buttocks and thighs. Without any warning he unzipped himself, his erection visible inches away between her thighs. I thought for a moment he might want my mouth but he simply grabbed her hips and began fucking her. She bucked and screamed again as his clothing battered her raw flesh. I clung on to her hands, and I watched his balls slap against her right in front of my eyes. I had never seen people fuck; here was his cock driving back and forth inches away. Her breasts swayed against my head as he forced her back and forth. After a while I felt the two bodies find each other through the violence and pain; he built up, and pulled her head backwards by the hair, saying “Cum with me, slut”. The two of them dissolved into an insane wild rhythm which culminated in a cacophony of moans and grunts. Then settled, his cock deep in her just in front of me, her tears now sweat, both bodies satiated.

After a while, he withdrew, his cock covered in her juices, turned a moment and called Luba over to clean him up, while telling me to release Valya’s hands and undo her ankle straps.

A few minutes later, we were presented on our knees silent before him, Valya a smear of tears and perspiration. There were no questions. He calmly taped our thighs with his boot so they were properly spread, and picking up the cane ran the tip thoughtfully across our offered bodies. He called the housekeeper to arrange the car for Luba and me to go home.

He lifted my chin on the cane: “What did you tell your parents?”

“That I was needed for a pre-Gala event, Master Arkady.”

“They are not worried for you?”

“No, Master, not yet.”

“Keep it that way?” There was a warning in his voice as he taped the cane on my sex, seeing how wet it was. “The only one without relief tonight, aren’t you? I like girls in need. No masturbating when you get to bed tonight, or you will be punished.” I squirmed in embarrassment. He laughed. “I can always tell. Ask Valya.” He moved the tip of the cane to her breast.

He then turned to Luba. “Timofei said you were keen and enthusiastic, but need some lessons with your mouth. We will have to arrange that for you. But in general I am happy with you both, obedient and charming.” The tone was clear, firm with no element of surprise.

The housekeeper returned to say that the car was ready. “Off you two go, get dressed,” he signalled to us. My clothes had appeared folded on a chair in the back hall, and the housekeeper helped us both clean off the make-up from all over our bodies. It felt an age since I had last been clothed. We returned to the entrance hall, and waited. Master appeared smiling at us in our coats, with Valya at his shoulder, now without collar or boots.

“Sleep well girls.”

Just as I was walking out into the cold night, he added as if in passing: “Oh and Dasha, tomorrow is Saturday, and Evgenny Dimitrovich expects you at the botanical gardens at 1.30pm. You seem to have suggested it was a good place for him to visit.” I turned, horrified. “Valya will pick you up with the car at midday and have you properly dressed by Natasha in time. Total obedience. He’s a cocky son of a bitch that boy, but clever, and it looks as if I might be getting in with his family now.”

My brain whirled back to town hall, and the attractive young man approaching and asking what was worth visiting. I knew now that as he had promised, he did always get what he wanted.

Chapter 9

The driver left me standing inside the entrance of the tropical gardens, coat and valenki safely hung in the cloakroom five minutes early.

“Never be late for a Master,” Valya had said as she coaxed me out of Madame Natasha’s salon to the waiting car, and now here I was standing in a simple bright yellow minidress with matching high sandals like an exotic plant, desperately avoiding the surprised looks of the children and the disapproving, or more often lecherous looks, of the men and women who had sought Sunday morning refuge in steaming warmth of the gardens. Surprisingly no one had the courage to say anything directly.

“What a sight. An exotic yellow bird.”

His even amused voice came from behind me. How had he managed to get in the gardens without me seeing? I had spent all morning, no, all night too, with his face and voice churning through my head, from the moment he had introduced himself in the town hall, to the way he had stripped me naked in Arkady’s home. Was I just another slave, even if a pretty one? Or had there been something more in those first moments in the town hall? And what of me and Luba, whose leg his hand had so openly explored for me to see. God, how he had managed to keep me off balance, and now standing there with his broad confident smile, in black polo neck sweater, stylish jeans and ankle boots.

“I am surprised they are not all taking your photo standing here, now you’re famous,” he waved a copy of the local paper as he walked away into the gardens. I followed, flustered as he wandered among the exotic plants, occasionally pausing to read the cards, before depositing himself on a bench in a distant corner. I sensed he had explored the area before and found a place away from the visiting families. Remembering Master’s final words the night before I discreetly checked we were alone, and slave curtseyed, straight back, splaying my knees and raising my dress above my hips. How was I so obedient?

He held my eyes a beat, then looked down at my displayed sex. “I prefer you unpainted,” he commented looking back up. “And by the way, when properly trained, you will know to show your manners immediately, never to look around to see if you are observed. Pleasing the master is your only purpose.” It was said in that even tone. I simply stood there, my bright yellow dress raised high, my sex on total display. Once again he had seen everything, and now he left me standing before him. The eyes softened. “Arkady tells me you are a virgin?” It was a question.

“Yes, Master Evgenny.”

“Last night must have been quite an introduction to service for you.”

“Yes, Master, it was, though Ludmilla Petrovna, my ballet sponsor, did give us a few sessions training to prepare us.”

“That’s you and your girlfriend, Luba?” I blushed and he saw it.

“A piece of advice, Dasha. It is never good to get too attached to another slave.”

My head exploded but I did not move. I bit the inside of my cheek, hating myself with my dress still held high and the whole of my lower body exposed. He was as monstrous as the others. Worse.

“Now you are angry with me.”

Could I hide nothing from him? “I am sorry because I had wanted a nice quiet walk with you around the garden, but I understand that your new training kicked in. You may relax.” I lowered the dress, smoothed it down, but then was left, definitely not relaxed, uncertain whether to present, and if not where to put my hands. “May I say you look truly beautiful in that dress once more with your hair up and your neck exposed. A little risqué without underwear but perfect for these gardens. This Madame Natasha is quite a talent.”

He patted the seat beside him. “Now if you can, come sit and relax. Would you like a coffee?” I looked a little confused.

“Sit,” he repeated as he got up and walked off down one of the paths. I perched on the edge of the seat, still uncertain and looked down at the paper lying there. A photo of Luba and I with Madame Ludmila stared back, a big part of the front page announcement about the new industrial development. Bizarrely given my present situation, the first thought was that my parents would be proud among the neighbours, though dad might gripe at his daughter’s nipples on such public display.

Once again Evgenny managed to be there, without me noticing, this time carrying two polystyrene cups of coffee. “Sugar?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you Sir,” jumping up. He put a firm hand on my shoulder to keep me sitting, He looked at the paper, “Pretty girls are a perfect cover up for an ecological horror, but at least it makes you a local celebrity now.” I gripped the coffee cup in both hands, looking down in continued confusion.

“Will your parents be proud of you?“ He could read me completely.

“Please, Sir, do not bring my parents into this.” I glanced up at him desperately and he nodded.

“Sorry, I just wanted to know a little more about you, Daria Nikolaevna,” The deliberate politeness took me over the edge.

I spluttered, “But why, Evgenny?” I could not believe I had used his first name. All the confusion of the night before came tumbling out. “You know I am Master Arkady’s new slave girl. You know I am naked with shaven sex under this dress, and I suspect you noted last night I have a mole just under my left nipple? You know you can ask me to suck your cock on this bench and I will almost certainly obey, however badly. You knew most of this after thirty minutes of meeting me.” Finally, looking at him directly, “And you know unless blackmailed and forced to do all these things, I would not be here.”

I stopped as suddenly as I had started.

He was silent, looking away, unsettled. He started to speak, then stopped himself.

“So why do you wish to know ‘a little more about’ me?” I said softly, scared.

“All true, but you also know there was a moment, that moment just before I knew anything,” He dribbled away as he looked up, a young man, knowing I remembered that moment too. “Listen, I know it is impossible. I am here representing my father’s interests for the first time, am mid-battle with the formidable Tatyana, and the infamous Arkady Antonovich does not know whether to trust me or not.” He was speaking with the youthful intensity of someone not in control. “I was both intimidated and frightened. Then I saw you…first on stage, the young ballerina superstar, and then close up. And god, I prayed you were not already what I feared Arkady would make you.”

He stood up, threw his largely untouched coffee in the bin beside the bench and marched off deep into the exhibition, leaving me breathless on the bench. I did not move, then rose and with nothing else to do picked up the paper and threw it away together with the coffee I never drink into the bin. I looked around uncertain what to do, then sat back down, the moment pounding in my chest. I knew there was something even in those moments in the hall between us. But now this.

Then he was standing over me again.

“I cannot spirit you away. I thought of plans all night. But attempt to escape and Arkady’s vengance, and fucking up my father’s business, would be disaster. I have seen it. No-one crosses these men, let alone both of them.” He paused, weighing his words, knowing he was treading into danger.

“But last night I thought, perhaps I can buy her.”

A truth hung between us.

I looked down at the yellow hem that lay so high up my thigh, my heart thumping, my head spinning at how my world had been transformed these past weeks, that now I was a commodity that could be bought and sold. I stood up, my hands sliding behind my lower back.

“No,” said Evgenny, trying to stop me.

“Yes, Sir,” I firmly replied. “It is better this way, for me to understand clearly my place. Master Arkady has made clear he will destroy my family, let alone my dreams, unless I show total obedience. His slave Valentina told us what happened when she attempted resistance.”

Evgenny stood, looked around helpless and then sat down back on the bench.

“Sir wanted to know more about me and my family. My mother is a laboratory scientist, and my father is now basically unemployed since the Party imploded and planning disappeared, but I know is hoping to apply to the Master’s new development. I have no siblings. I am in my third year at university, still a decent dancer, not bad at chess. My degree is in Russian and English. My dream is to do a masters in Novosibirsk, and my lecturers say my grades might just get me a scholarship but of course the costs are now amazing.”

It all came out in a girlish splurge. I knew he wanted to stop me but I needed to get to the end. My life in thirty seconds.

The truth still hung between us.

I whispered as evenly as possible: “So, Sir has discussed buying me?”

“No. Not with Arkady.” He stopped again, uncomfortable. “I did this morning with my father.” He swallowed. “As part of our business deal with Arkady Antonovich.”

My shoulders dropped. Part of a business deal. “So I would join your other slaves? Your harem?”

A middle aged couple of women suddenly appeared round the corner, discussing the propagation of hibiscus, saw us and beamed happily. “An amazing place, isn’t it? And so warm!” Their eyes frowned as they took in my dress and the snow piled up just outside the arched glass dome of the centre. Evgenny managed a few pleasantries to prove he was not a thug with his prostitute, before they moved on. Little did they understand that the world I was being taken into was far worse. I began silently to weep.

“No. No, it would not be like that,” he said defensively the moment they had disappeared back into the foliage. Even in my absurd position, standing, a slave for sale before him, I registered how he must have discussed what to do with me with his father, that there had been negotiations and compromises. Conversations that he did not want to share with a girl he had had his moment with, but which were the essentials of owning her.

“Evgenny.” I curtseyed briefly to him, deliberately raising my skirt high in submission. “Sir. I have been struggling so hard for the past few weeks to understand the new reality of my life with Master Arkady. Beatings, sex, service, slavery. A reality I never knew existed. And now there is you talking of purchasing me. Please explain what you are saying clearly.” More tears formed, a mixture of confusion and fear but also somewhere deep inside, some primal hope and desire, all attached to this man getting me away from Master Arkady.

He looked at his watch and stood up.

“I cannot now, Dasha.”

My face fell in failure, my bravery peeling away again.

“I will try and explain to you how it might be, even if I probably do not fully understand myself. And I will do so before anything radical gets decided.” He looked pleading at my deflated face. “This afternoon I go back into negotiations with Arkady and Tatyana Mikhailovna, who my father is convinced will return with a new bid to control the investment. Today, I am supposed to become a real businessman, or to fail totally. And my father does not take failure well.” His uncertain face melted me, though why I should feel sorry for him I could not work out. “This is not really me, but I know I must find some way to prevent Tatyana Mikhailovna allying with Arkady Antonovich and taking over this project. My father is no saint, but she and her family are worse.”

Even in this state, he felt able to treat me as I was now. He stroked my cheek with two fingers, pulling my hair back with no need to ask.

“Two things I must say clearly now. The first is terrible for you to hear but is non negotiable. I will not be able to free you from your situation. My father made this absolute. Purchased by me, you will have to remain a slave. That will be a core part of any contract with Arkady Antonovich.” I stood there, shaking. This world I had descended into. He leant forward, and gently kissed me on the lips for the first time. Again no permission to do so but I still wanted to melt. “Second is that you would be MY slave,`` he whispered, ”but I do promise one thing - to help you fulfil at least part of your dreams. I must go. Already late.” He turned to pick up his bag off the bench, saying “Your driver should be here to take you home or wherever you need to go.”

By the time he had turned back, I had slid to my knees and was kissing his boot. In that moment he lifted the boot and placed it on my neck, firmly forcing my face against the damp stone floor.

I clearly said, “Good luck, Sir. Be a businessman.” I felt the foot push harder down, and then he walked away.