Page 7 of Kristoff

“I’ll see you tomorrow, father.” I bid him good night and leave Tricia to lower to her knees and service him while he finishes his dinner.

When I get back to my apartment on the estate, I boot up her computer. Magdalena Nowak won’t leave my mind. It’s tempting to log into the close circuit video feed in her cage, but I force myself not to. I can’t go to her again today. She needs to let her situation sink into her mind, because she’s going to have a rough time adjusting if she continues to think she can get out of it.

Instead, I dive back into her files. Checking her browser history doesn’t surprise me - not after what I saw in her cage. Kink websites, Tumblr accounts, even a few blog posts she’d written herself regarding submission.

I grab a beer from my kitchen and settle in with her laptop.

“Okay, Magdalena, tell me everything about you.”

4

Kristoffhad cuffed my hands, so I could sink to the floor and sit in my cage. At first, I was grateful to be able to sit, except my ass hurt too much to have any contact with the cement.

I have no idea what time it is. My body is sore. Every inch. My head from lack of sleep, my ass and back from that belt of his. I finally gave in to my fatigue and moved down to my knees, and then onto my ass. As much as it hurt, I couldn’t hold myself awake any longer.

When I woke up, I half expected to be unbound. My stomach growls, reminding me I hadn’t eaten. Scrambling back to my feet, I relieve the pressure on my sore ass. Surely, there are welts and bruises. The skin feels so tight, I’m afraid it will split if I bend over too far.

I’ve tried to search the room, but he bound me to face the wall behind my cage. I can’t see anything other than cement blocks. And craning my neck doesn’t help.

The door opens behind me. Boots move along the concrete flooring, but no lights flicker to life. I look over my shoulder but only see a glimpse of a black shirt as Kristoff opens the door to the cage. Stupid that he locked the cage after binding me to it, but I’m not going to remark on it. I’m going to try something new.

“Tak chto on izbil tebya.”So, he did beat you?a new voice says. I turn the other way, trying to see this new man, but he stands out of my line of sight. They don't know I can understand them, and I’m not giving them that power yet, so I don’t answer him.

A tray drops at my feet. Scrambled eggs bounce, some spills onto the floor beside the tray. An apple rolls to the edge of the tray and off.

“Breakfast,” he sneers in his thick accent. “Your ass is redder than the apple.” He laughs, stepping closer. His hands on me, I clench my ass and try to twist away, but he’s gripping me hard and I can’t get free.

“Stop,” I demand, but he only laughs.

“Did Kristoff fuck this ass last night?” He pries my cheeks apart and I arch my back, trying to press my pelvis into the bars, away from him.

“Let me go, you asshole.” I grind my teeth together. So much for my new plan of playing nice.

His laugh sounds dirty. I cringe when he moves closer to me, his hands moving up my back and around to my front. I kick out at him, but he’s already grabbed my breasts.

“These tits.” He groans and pinches my nipples.

I throw my hips back at him, trying to knock him away, but he only grabs my nipples harder.

“Fucking bitch,” he says in English - probably because he wants me to understand him. “Try that again and I won’t even spit on my cock before I shove it in your ass.”

I freeze. His right hand has left my breast and his zipper is worked down. His dick presses against my ass and he needs both hands to pull my cheeks apart.

Fuck. No.

I fight back, wiggling and kicking back and throwing my head back trying to hit him or get away. Anything to keep that prick of his from touching me.

“Chto za chert!” Kristoff barks. I don’t stop fighting my attacker, because I have no idea if Kristoff is here to help me or him.

“Get away from her!” he yells, and the man is thrown off me. My foot slips in the splattered eggs and I hit my chin on the bar but recover in time to see Kristoff throw the man to the ground and press his boot to the naked cock lying limply against the man’s thigh. “Ty ne trogavesh’ menya.”You don’t touch what’s mineKristoff says in a voice so low, so dangerous even I freeze at the sound.

The man glares up at Kristoff but doesn’t try to move. He fires off a protest in Russian, too fast for me to catch every word, but I understand enough to know he’s insulting me and members of my patronage. Kristoff doesn’t defend my honor, simply restates that I’m not to be touched. Because I belong to him.

“She’s mine,” Kristoff spits, sounding angry. He shoves his boot into my attacker’s midsection before stepping away. “Get out.”

I turn away, not wanting to see the fury in Kristoff’s eyes when he faces me.

He kicks the tray away and uncuffs my hands. My shoulder muscles burn when I drop my hands to my sides. They weren’t stretched too far out, but enough that the muscles have tightened overnight. The cuffs aren’t removed from my wrists, just from the bars.

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