“Leave,” Mikhail orders, and I heave to access oxygen the moment Dorin releases my head. But the air won’t reach my lungs. It just keeps dragging in and out of my mouth in shallow gasps.
“Take these off,” I beg, struggling against the chains and the mittens as Mikhail rolls me onto my back. “I can’t breathe.”
Grabbing my jaw, he forces my attention to him. “Say the right words.”
I scramble through the flaring red lights in my mind, searching for the right words. “Please, Sir,” I blurt the moment I find them. “Please take them off, Sir.”
A small smile tips up his lips. “Good girl. Youarelearning.”
He makes quick work of unlocking the padlocks and unbuckling the mittens.
The moment I get my hands free, I roll onto my side, flopping my arms above my head as I drag in deep breaths that finally fill my lungs.
I feel Mikhail staring at me for a while, and then his hand moves to my back, drawing big circles. It feels slightly detached, like the comfort isn’t quite genuine. But I don’t care. I let the warmth of his hand seep into my frazzled nerves and let the motions lull me into a rhythm of deep breaths and empty thoughts.
***
The sexualabusein my cell becomes another part of my daily routine. Some days, it’s just fingers; some days, Mikhail will add a small butt plug; and sometimes, he’ll let me have the full length of his cock. He may detach my handsfrom the collar andstring me up to the ceiling, or he’ll have Dorin come and hold me down—or simply do it himself.
The only constant is that he always makes me beg for whatever degradation he forces upon me and always tells me when to come. His timing is perfect, always giving me the order just as I’m about to fall over the edge, and I get a feeling that he’s conditioning me. But I don’t allow myself to linger on the idea. My mind is too full of shame, once Mikhail is through with me, to consider his motivations.
“Don’t worry,Koshechka.You’ll come to accept that this is who you are. Agood little slut who loves to be subdued,” he says one day when I begin to tense up under his comforting hand sometime after he has made me come. It’s always like this. I accept his comfort as long as the post-orgasmic haze lingers, but once my brain clears up, I reject him.
“You’ll have to break me for that to happen.”
Grabbing me under the shoulders, he hauls me up to sit between his legs, pulling me back against his chest. The position is deceptively intimate, but there’s no intention to comfort behind the gesture. This is to make his next task easier.
“We’ll see about that.” He drapes his legs over mine and grabs one of my wrists in a steely grip, predicting my struggle. My obedience has vanished in the devastating defeat, and the moment he picks one of the mittens off the floor, I begin to writhe against him. It’s not a conscious decision; it’s instinct, knowing what panic will descend upon my mind when he encases my hands in leather and takes away my autonomy.
But my struggles are as useless as ever. It only takes Mikhail a minute to drag the leather over my hand and force my fingers into a constant fist.
“I won’t ever accept this,” I say in a hoarse voice as my chest constricts under the weight of the building claustrophobia. “You’ll have to break me.”
“Hm.” He expels a half laugh. “Breaking someone is easier than rewiring their mind. Most clients don’t care what they get—they just want a girl who’ll spread her legs and open her mouth upon order—so I usually take the easy way. More profit. But even if you weren’t a special order, I’m not sure I’d break you.”
I shake my head and open my mouth to say something, but the sick depravity of his words has rendered me speechless.
“Because you,Koshechka,”—he grabs my chin to turn my face—“you don’t need much rewiring. You just needto accept who you areand learn some manners.” He releases my jaw to grab my other hand. “And a few tricks.”
“It’s never gonna happen.” My voice breaks at the feeling of leather sliding onto my other hand.
“No? Just like you’re not gonna lean into me and take my comfort in a minute?” He snaps the padlock shut, connecting the glove to the collar chain, trapping my hands.
I want to deny it, but all I can manage is a small shake of my head. I don’t want to accept his comfort, but he always makes me. And with each time he does, his terrifying competence becomes a bit clearer to me, making me believe a little more in his promise to make me a good whore.
“Stretch your arms and open your hands.” The taunting order is the same every time, and I whimper as I try to obey, knowing refusing is pointless.
The effect is instant. The moment I tug at my arms and the chain stops them, tears well in my eyes, and when I press my fingers against the leather in a fruitless effort to uncurl them, powerlessness drags me under.
“Harder,” he commands.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my head falling forward in defeat as I tug with more force.
“No, no, no, you know how this works. Open your eyes.” With a hand on my forehead, he pulls my head back, forcing me to watch the horrible sight of the leather-bound stumps of my hands.
The tears break free from my eyes as he has me struggling against the restraints twice more.
Finally, he lets off. “Good girl. Now close your eyes and relax.” He smooths his hand over my forehead in soothing motions as he drapes an arm around my waist.