Two-2
1934 Words
With Serg gone, she needs another ride. But that won’t be me.
“Nothing yet. Let us hope she’ll find some poor asshole to torment and leave us be.”
We both know that won’t happen.
“I suppose I need to prepare for this evening. Have you spoken to the women?”
Pavel nods. “They’d much prefer it if you were the one who addressed them, seeing as you’re supposed to be their master.”
The thought sickens me, but it’s a necessary evil to ensure I stay on top.
Willow was able to acquire three women who had fallen on hard times. They were living in squalor while working at some strip club. She promised them a roof over their heads, a wage for their troubles, and food. She detailed what was expected of them, and that they were to submit to me because I was their master.
They needed to believe it. Otherwise, this plan wouldn’t work.
When they agreed, she brought them here.
I’ve seen them a handful of times, but in all honesty, I have no interest in them.
Their beauty is unquestionable, but they’re merely a means to an end. That’s all. However, I know Pavel is right.
Tonight is their first real test.
No doubt, my guests will expect them to behave like trained circus animals. With me as their ringmaster.
“Fine. I’ll go see them now.”
“Don’t sound so beaten up about it. Most men would be envious of your circumstances. Three beautiful women, waiting for your command.”
“I’m not most men,” I reply, standing. “Is everything organized?”
Pavel nods. “Yes. Security will be tight. All guests are to relinquish their weapons. If they refuse, they will not gain entry. We still can’t be too sure who’s friend and who’s foe. However, we want everyone to feel welcome.
“Everyone on the guest list has been invited because they’re useful to us. We need all of them on our side.”
This already sounds painful.
“Very well. I’ll see you later.” Hobbling past him, I don’t bother to tell him how much I appreciate his loyalty because he doesn’t want praise. He has settled into his “old” role with ease and so has Max. Saint is well and does what he wants, which is fine by me.
Once out in the long corridor, I commence my walk toward the women’s quarters. This mansion houses twelve bedrooms, more than enough for everyone to have their own. I’ve kept them away from Irina because I wish to shelter her as much as I can.
Celine has just moved in, which gives me some peace of mind. But Irina is smart, so sooner or later, she’ll understand our lifestyle is far from normal.
The elaborate marbled staircase is my worst enemy, and I climb each step painfully slow. There is no element of surprise with this cane. Once I’m at the top, I take a moment to absorb everything.
The crystal chandelier is the centerpiece of the grand hallway. Multiple corridors lead off to the bedrooms and small living areas, but this communal space always takes my breath away. Denka Orlov’s famous piano sits in the corner, a reminder of what happens to those who don’t play by the rules.
Taking a left, I make my way toward the bedrooms. My bedroom is at the other end of the house—so is Irina’s—but the hallway is almost a carbon copy of the east wing.
I raise my hand, about to knock, but then I realize masters don’t knock.
Composing myself, I slip my mask into place and play the role I’m destined for. Opening the door, I’m surprised to see all three women within the one bedroom. They’re sitting on the large canopy bed, the sheer gold curtains providing them some cover.
They stop talking when I enter.
Willow has taught them well.
Closing the door behind me, I enter the room at a leisurely pace. They quickly spring from the bed and kneel at the foot of it, eyes downcast.
This should please me, but it doesn’t. All I wish is for them to leave.
However, if they don’t believe the façade, they’ll become a liability as the truth would ruin me. So I forget who I am and remember who I once was.
“What a delightful sight. I am most pleased.”
The women are beautiful. Willow has chosen well.
I come to rest in front of the first woman. The strawberry blonde. I’ve forgotten her name. “Hello, персик.”
She nods slowly, knowing not to speak unless given permission. Willow was once the pupil, but now, she’s the teacher.
“You may address me.”
She lifts her chin, her porcelain skin glowing under the lights. There is an innocence about her that has me fearful for her as the vultures will want to pick her apart. “Thank you, мастер. I’m here to serve you.”
Swallowing down the bile, I nod my approval and move on to the next woman with hair as black as night. Her name is Jada. I only remember this because her eyes are a lovely shade of jade.
“Are you well, Jada?”
She doesn’t speak and remains submissive, which annoys me beyond words. This is so exhausting. At this rate, our conversation should be done come midnight. I don’t know how I once took pleasure from this way of life.
I suppose conversing was not high on the agenda however.
“You can speak.”
Jada raises her eyes and smiles shyly. “I’m good, мастер. Thank you for all that you’ve done.”
Submissive zombies. That’s the only way I can describe what I’m seeing. I would do anything for one of them to disobey me, but they won’t.
I focus my attention on the last woman. Again, I cannot remember her name. “What is your name? Please answer me,” I add, wishing for this exchange to be over with soon.
“Yuna, but you may call me whatever you wish,” she replies softly, meeting my eyes. Her long dark hair is braided, drawing attention to her stunning cheekbones and pink lips.
Out of the three women, I feel Yuna has the most gall.
They’re wearing matching sheer white gowns. I know they’re accustomed to wearing much less at their previous job, but I still wonder if they’d like to wear something else. But I cannot offer them this option because in this world, a submissive is to act and dress a certain way.
These rules don’t apply to Willow, though, because she isn’t my submissive. To the outside world, she’s my lover. Mine and Saint’s.
I feel sickened by this thought.
Ella will see this, and I can only imagine how it’ll affect her. She already believes I chose Willow over her, and tonight will only confirm this, which is why I need to get her alone as soon as possible.
I need to explain everything, and so does she, and once we’re done catching up, I will tear the clothes from her luscious body and feast on her for a week.
Just the thought of it has me aching in my pants.
“Shall I suck your c**k?” says Yuna. Looking up at me, she awaits my command.
Cupping her chin, I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “Thank you, Yuna, but no. I need to get ready for tonight’s festivities.”
She nods.
Bidding the ladies farewell, I exit their room, inhaling deeply as I close the door. How I’ve changed. In the past, I wouldn’t have thought twice about exploiting these women however I pleased. But now, all I want is to enjoy a neat scotch in silence.
I can’t be in this mindset tonight. To regain the respect of my “peers,” I have to be the man I once was.
Let the games begin.
I’ve decided against the tie.
My navy suit is made from the finest material and lined with elegant blue silk. I wear a white shirt with two buttons undone so my thin gold chain is on show.
My hair is slicked back. The longer strands emphasize the shorter sides.
Adjusting my cuff links, I opt for no jacket as it’s too formal. This is supposed to be a party, after all. My gold pocket watch sits snugly in my vest pocket with the chain hanging loose, single Albert style.
I don’t need to look into the mirror to know I look good. I paid my personal Italian tailor thousands of dollars to ensure it.
But this is all for show.
All I care about is seeing Ella and finding out what the hell is going on. With no time like the present, I reach for my cane and stroll out of my bedroom leisurely. The string quartet sounds delightful; a great choice to drown out the bothersome voices of my guests.
Irina is asleep, and I’ve asked Celine to stay with her in case she gets startled in the middle of the night. She tends to wander, which cannot happen tonight because I’m unsure of what the night will bring.
Focusing ahead, I see what can only be described as a vision. Willow waits for me at the top of the stairs with her back turned. Her red ball gown hugs her frame beautifully. She’d tied her long hair into an elegant twist, allowing one to gaze upon her graceful neck.
Saint stands by her side. He also looks wonderful in an all-black suit, shirt included. I’m not ashamed to acknowledge the beauty in both sexes, and both Saint and Willow are all class. He turns when he hears my cane stab at the carpet.
I understand he is far from impressed, but I will not allow anything to happen to Willow. I will kill every single one of these assholes before any harm comes to her—consequences be damned. When she turns, I’m left utterly speechless.
Her glamorous makeup draws attention to her stunning blue eyes and supple pink lips. I know I’m seconds away from being punched in the jaw by Saint, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
“You look absolutely exceptional,” I say, coming to a stop a few feet away.
“Thank you. You still know my size,” she replies, running her hands down her ruffled skirt. She’s referring to a time when the clothes she wore were ones I bought for her.
“It’s something I’ll never forget.” I can’t hide my nostalgia.
Saint rolls his eyes, which has me smirking. To have this weird harmony between us is awfully strange. I never thought we could ever co-exist this way. But here we are…
“You also look remarkable, Saint.”
He raises his eyes to the heavens once again. “Let’s get tonight over with. My asshole quota has already been met.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Offering my arm to Willow, she loops hers through mine and pulls her shoulders back as she gets into character. Saint flanks my other side.
“You never leave my side. If you must, stay with Saint,” I instruct softly, not wanting anyone to overhear even though we’re alone up here. “When I find Ella, I’m going to get her alone. I won’t have much time. So please stay alert.”
Both Saint and Willow nod.
Inhaling deeply, I focus on the task at hand, and that’s finding Ella. No one can know of my plans, so I stand tall, basking in the wealth surrounding me because it feeds the narcissist I need to be.
With our first steps, Willow, Saint, and I descend the staircase, unhurried. We are the guests of honor, after all. Halfway down, I’m able to see my home filled to the brim with familiar faces. Not much has changed. They still look like the greedy sociopaths I grew to tolerate.
My tolerance isn’t what it once was because I already want to kick everyone out. But I plaster my smile on my face, appearing overjoyed that my old associates are here.
“Here he is,” says Charles Muller, an art dealer to the outside world, but in reality, he exports high quality cocaine across the globe inside his “works of art.”
- Writer
