Dark Days (Written Pictures #2) (10 page)

CHAPTER XXIV – Praise & Appraisal

Alexei stood still, savouring the glory of the moment. There, five or six feet from the floor on an ornate perch, was the American woman, body smoothed under smoky yellow latex. He could see the metallic bands,
his
bands, that she had put on to seal her slavery. He hadn’t coerced them on her, she had taken them herself and that made his cock twitch in celebration of the power he felt.

She was garnished with a flourish of ridiculous fake plumage but strange as she appeared, she represented the apex of his achievements and the nadir of his darkest desire for vengeance. A woman. A powerful woman. An
American
woman. He couldn’t help himself and his smile only hinted at what he felt inside.

It had been such a journey to get here, clambering over rivals and treading them permanently under foot, occasionally by fair means but usually by foul. Here he was though, at the very pinnacle of power. All were his; economic power, social power and as his eyes crept over the sculpted body of the woman he now fully owned, sexual power. Political power would soon follow too.

He could see the signs he had seen in so many weaker women before and looking closely he could see how Raven’s body quivered with a silent and otherwise unseen sob. She was close to the edge in more ways than one. Few would notice but he knew – he had been watching her with increasing fascination.

This one had been tough, much tougher than the other shell of a woman who had cracked and cowered within forty eight hours. She was supposed to be his next but she was already fucked up. No, this one, this Raven, had more than matched her reputation. She was the toughest he had taken and while his eyes crept over her sculpted latex form, admiration unexpectedly flashed within him.

She was a stunning creature. The sheen of opaque yellow latex couldn’t fully distract the eye from the drama of her curves nor could the comical plumage detract from the depth of her sexuality.

Slowly, Alexei allowed his eyes to wander over her, pausing to take in how her waist naturally nipped in atop the fine flare of her hips. His eyes had to linger. He had seen her body before but now it somehow seemed to connect, reaching into him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. His gaze eventually rose again to take in softly focussed facial features that lay only partly obscured by the see-through latex. Her makeup had smeared but that only added to what he was beginning to feel, giving him pause to reconsider his initial plans once again.

It would be beyond a pleasure to explore that body with finger and flogger. He wanted more and though he castigated himself, his decision was made. She would come to him willingly and beg him for the brutal fucking he would gladly oblige her with fist brutally balled in her black hair. She would be his, but first she would scream out her need, before screaming out her thanks.

== ~ ==

Turgid laughter billowed round Raven as her arms moved up and down, hunting for the angle to stop the frying shocks assailing tender breasts. God, her shoulder hurt, and it felt like the weight of the wing would pull it clean out of its socket. But flap she did to the continuing amusement of the crowd below.

She had always hated being laughed out. Secret uncertainty of her self-worth had always caused her to lash out wildly at even the hint of any humour that was poked her way. Yet here, now, on her elevated perch, the centre of unwanted attention, the laughter continued, rolling like thunder around her, crashing into her time and again, poking, pounding, punishing.

It was then that Raven noticed it for the first time in her life. She was floating. There but not quite so. She almost imagined herself looking down in disgust at the flailing, idiotic, noisy yellow bird, tethered by an ankle to a perch for the amusement of all.

She was alone and lost, exposed and vulnerable. In her mind’s eye, she longed for the reassuringly strong hand of Alexei that seemed now to reach out and offer shelter. She could see his eyes. They did more than just look now. There was a depth, a focus, a desire she had seen so often before in others.

In her head she saw herself reaching for that hand, taking it, taking that offering. It was a hand that offered a haven from the cruelty she was forced to endure. In Raven’s mind, she stooped to kiss it as it tightened to clutch hers. To the accompaniment of the background laughter, she lowered her head, arse accosted by the movement. She wanted,
needed
, to look down. Look down into the eyes of Alexei, her would-be saviour.

It was a second, no more than that, and yet through the strangely yellow-tinged latex hood that masked her face, eyes connected. Raven met Alexei and Alexei met Raven for the first time as Master and his enslaved girl. He was there for her and she was there for him.

== ~ ==

He felt it. It was beyond his usual lust and transcended the anger that drove him inexorably onward. That second, that fleeting second, he felt something that he had never imagined.

She needed him. It was crystal clear. She had broken. He would properly celebrate later by taking that divine body and ripping his own heaven from it. She was in for a frenzied night, flying feathers and torn latex. Even though that mental image amused him, he knew beyond question that she would be the fuck of ages.

His eyes devoured her. What legs. What
stunning
legs. They could wrap a man up into infinity and still he would come back to beg for more. No, he would crawl back for more. They seemed endless and, even with the demeaning avian feet, Alexei could imagine tearing at their latex covering with his teeth as he held her firmly down by the throat. He would assault them with his lips, his tenacious tongue and with brutal bites.

Nobody could look like she did in such a comical costume, nobody could even come close. In that pregnant second of connection, he knew without any further doubt that he would keep her. A permanent trophy to his power - the Arab could go fuck himself.

She was a danger though. His finely honed instincts still told him that much and pricked his lust with a caution that had long served him well. She would always be a danger, broken or otherwise but how to keep her, and how to keep her down? How to keep her body his without extinguishing the spark of spirit that added the danger that spiced the pot? Could he keep her? Could he ever be sure he wasn’t positioning a poison in his house, in his bed? Questions. So many questions about a decision he was shocked to have made.

He had the video of course – he had watched it over and over. The quality was poor though and much as he could use it as a threat, it couldn’t ever be really worthwhile. She had stood there as another woman, a redhead, had kicked a man to death but standing by wasn’t a crime that could really hold her to him, not when the tall redhead in the video with her back to the screen was in such a frenzy. Her posture wasn’t dissimilar to the other woman he had bought but the redhead had fire. The living corpse was blonde and had been dragged from the street. She was shabbily tattooed, addicted,
different
.

Alexei’s attention turned back to his bird. That body. Oh, that body. It took his attention afresh with every breath he inhaled. Each was vaguely infused with the scent of body-heated latex as it mingled with the expensive perfumes of his guests. Yes. That exquisite body would experience things it had never experienced before. Every inch, every pore, every last cell in her would shiver and shake with the carnal passion he would provoke.

She would scream. They always screamed but she would really scream. Agonies? Yes, some. Ecstasies would be inflicted upon her. It was his champagne moment and he would gorge on her like a God.

Had she really broken though? He wasn’t even sure now that he still wanted her to. He wanted that spark. He saw it and wanted it to live, keeping it alive but keeping it contained. If it lived, how to control it? So many unknowns, so many decisions, so much to anticipate and such avarice he felt. He wanted her. She would be his. Fully his. Willingly his. More than just a trophy gathered for sheer sport.

== ~ ==

A sudden slap of congratulation on his back propelled Alexei forward from the archipelago of the crowd that arched around the comical bird, hurling his indecision aside. They thought like him too – could see what a women she was. She would be no mere adornment to wear on his arm.

Stumbling momentarily, he quickly gathered himself to stride to the foot of the pedestal upon which his prized bird stood.

“Ladies, gentleman, welcome to house of Alexei,” he started, voice firming with each syllable to a ripple of politely respectful applause. “Today is special day,” he continued in his clipped English, slipping into his well-practised, easy manner to quickly dominate the room.

“Today Alexei present you symbol of coming resurrection of our Motherland.” His audience had been carefully selected. Mostly influential expatriate Russians, they quietened and shuffled closer to him. He paused, striking the pipeline deal would open up so much to him beyond the confining borders of an abandoned republic and he would need all of them then.

“Today, Alexei show to you his power.” Another pause – he needed to show he was the strongman to sweep all before him. “Today I show you our destiny. Today I show you symbol of how we will rise and take our rightful position at the world’s top table again.”

A murmur rippled around the assembly with nods of approval and a cheer of support from the back which was met with irritated glances.

“Ladies, gentleman, today I show you a woman of America. Is woman well used to wielding power. A woman I have taken. Today, ladies, gentlemen, I show you the symbol of our rebirth. Today I show to you that power chained by Alexei. Today I show to you, Raven!”

As he directed the crowd up to the bizarre yellow creature with a sweep of his hand, Natalia pressed a button on the remote hidden in her hand. The accelerometers in Raven’s wings randomised, bringing more painful shocks to the side of her breasts.

A distressed squawk ‘carrrred’ from the bird as electricity resumed its assault on sensitive breasts. Raven’s head snapped forward with the surprise, only adding to the torture as her rectal hook violated her afresh. The chain around her ankle jangled to her stomp of frustration.

‘Arms you stupid bitch!’ Raven’s inner voice screamed, trying to seize the attention of her pained body. To wave after wave, she struggled, flapping her arms to hunt for the correct angle. She had to stem the torrent of torture. Shrouded eyes darted around in panic, a bird and her brain in a flap.

An appreciative applause rippled right to left through the crowd. “Bravo!” shouted one female voice. “Encore!” shouted another. “Fry the Yankee bitch,” growled a masculine third.

And Natalia obliged. Brandishing the control she adjusted the settings, scrambling the required angle and strode to join her brother at his side. This was for show, his show but Natalia was sharing the limelight. That wasn’t her way but curling an arm around his little sister Alexei laboured a smile and a seemingly wholehearted hug.

Alexei looked back up to the perch. He would treat the woman so differently later so let Natalia share his stage for now. Pride puffed his chest out, mirroring the way his new woman puffed her yellow chest out in pain. He was Alexei, this was his world. These were his new disciples and when he finally took political control of the entire country, Raven would be by his side.

CHAPTER XXV – Deep Deep Down

The short chain chafed her neck until it felt raw. It was impossible to sit so the former redhead lay on the stone floor, her entire body subjected to the chilling dampness which suckled on her spirit and seemed to sap anything she had left.

Her yellowed hair hung limply over her eyes, a straggling remnant of a banished life. They had bleached it again since she had been there, killing off the lustrous fire that had dared stage a brief return at the roots. She had been known as Red once, in honour of her striking mane of hair. It didn’t matter now though - the pitch blackness of the cellar offered nothing to see it in and no solace, no escape.

She had once been something else. She had cared deeply about her appearance, a fixture at both gym and surgeon. But as she scooped the semi-liquid slop into her mouth, the woman no longer cared as the excess dribbled down her chin and puddled thickly in the floor. It smelt putrid, but she had quickly learned not to inhale while she ate.

As the burning in her lungs grew, Red threw her head to the side until the sturdy chain snapped the limit of her movement and she exhaled before gulping in another lungful of fetid air.

Turning back, she scooped up more of the food, feeling it ooze under her once pristine nails and, holding her breath again, she smeared another handful against her cracked lips.

Slowly she chewed, more in habit than need, before swallowing to force the mush down her throat. As she did, her mind drifted back to earlier in the day. They had varied her routine then but it made no difference, she just wanted the day to end as she wanted every day to end. The end of the day brought her closer to her next morning fix and that was all she lived for.

A woman, dark haired and beautiful, had punctuated her darkness and had broken into the monotony. She knew her from somewhere but as her mind fought with the drugs that kept her listless and always craving more, Red struggled to place her precisely. ‘A slave,’ her inner voice surmised, ‘a slave just like me.’

Somehow though, it didn’t seem right. Something didn’t fit.

She knew her position. Hell, she accepted it now. After all, it was the only way to stay alive in this Sodom of sadism and they gave her everything she needed. Red’s hand wandered down to the tattoo across her stomach, the one that had caused the infection that still left her weak. They fed her addiction with just enough to keep her down but never enough to get her high. Had they got her hooked in the first place though? Much as she tried, she couldn’t remember, her concentration only able to cling weakly to one subject before drifting to the next.

It was all about basics now. She could get what she needed here and wasn’t that what it was all about? What passed for food was grey, or at least it tasted like it should be grey. There was never enough light to see if it was or not. It could have been shit-brown for all she knew and it didn’t taste a million miles from that, though today’s was a little more tangy than usual. It had a hint of salt that she could only describe as reminiscent of ‘male’.

Some days it had a muskier taste than others but she tried not to notice and couldn’t concentrate long enough to think through what it could be. Anyway, once she had finished smearing it into her mouth, she always felt better. She looked forward in some ways to her feeding time, unaware that she was feeding herself, amongst other things, the powdered narcotic that had become part of her body’s basic needs.

She had never managed to get beyond the initial thought of colour. Focussing on any one thing for long these days was such an effort and when the food started oozing down her throat, the sticky lumps meant she had to focus on that just to make sure she didn’t choke.

The thought of the misplaced woman though still nagged at her. A voice from her past? Yes, that was it but where, how?

Workouts seemed to have been a big part of her life at one time. She remembered how she had been stupid enough to punish herself on a daily basis. They had seemed so important then but priorities had changed. Now she had other needs that commanded her, needs such as food and her continuing survival.

Her fogged brain pawed at the murk of her memory as she poked more food into her mouth, until it was abruptly stopped as her body convulsed and retched when it reached her stomach. Clutching her cramping tummy, Red felt the slightly raised area where she has been decorated with the cheap tattoo.

It had been forced on her. She had struggled, she remembered that much. It was linked to the dark haired woman. The association was made before her head drifted again, leaving that thought alone as her need turned back to the bowl. It was so difficult to reach through the door to her past even though it now rested slightly ajar.

Perhaps she had been the bitch that had etched the word on to her. Memories were all so difficult to draw forward these days. Focussing with all she had left, Red struggled to plough into the inky recesses of her memory but her body blared other priorities. With a discomforted groan to the muscular spasm rolling from the pit of her stomach, she vomited over her legs and the door to her past was again slammed firmly shut.