Dark Days (Written Pictures #2) (27 page)

CHAPTER LIX – Catnap

The little cat cracked an eye open with disdain at the noise that had dared to wake her, the same disdain she usually reserved for dogs. Waking a cat is quite simply wrong. Her other eye could wait until she deemed it worthy and as she scanned her world, an arm moved from the bed to pummel an alarm into silence. Why did they have those noisy things? Were they too stupid to realise that sleep was a gift of the Gods and should never be disturbed?

A movement outside caught her attention and from her high position atop the wardrobe, the little cat decided it merited opening her other eye. A bird perched the other side of the large picture window. Her head bolted up and her whiskers twitched with interest.

Birds had always intrigued her. Free to fly wherever they chose, they invariably chose to land in her empire, flapping and squawking, just asking for trouble. This one was bigger than her, almost twice her size in fact. Pah. Irrelevant. It was lucky that there was a pane of glass between it and the fearsome predator that was her. Otherwise, it would have met its doom in a flurry of feathers as the great hunter struck down yet another enemy that was bold enough to entice but too stupid to flee.

Movement below the little cat snatched her attention away from the feathers and she watched from above as her subjects rose. It was close to food time and her servants were rising. Good, right on time, the noise was almost worth it. Seeing one of them take the exit toward the area they set aside for her food preparation, she arched her back high and stretched her claws wide to ready herself for the arduous journey to the kitchen.

The stretch was beyond good and the little cat curled her head upwards just to add to the joy. The lap would be in the kitchen by now and so, with a leap of faith and a second bound down from the dresser, the little cat reached the floor and took off at speed to follow the legs. She paid scant attention to anything else when food’s red mist came down and the other legs almost tripped when she darted through them.

The familiar routine started. Coffee, laptop, but this time, spurred by feline telepathy, the legs retrieved her bowl and opened the cupboard to where her food was kept. They were behaving today and the little cat padded forward to reward them with a nuzzle. Today she might perhaps resist the urge to hunt their toes if they were twinkled in her direction. Even the omnipotent can be merciful to their servants. Well, sometimes at least.

Her bowl now on the tiled floor, the little cat edged closer, sniffing the air to test whether it was as fresh as she demanded and with just the right mix of meaty chunks and gravy. Satisfied, she stooped her head and started to feed just as the second pair of legs arrived from the bathroom to stand beside the first.

“Sleep well, honey?” Amber smiled as she poured two cups of coffee from the jug and handed one to Kat, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“Not really, lot on my mind.” Katarina received the kiss with a smile. Amber couldn’t help but notice the dark rings under Katarina’s eyes. “Has it started yet?”

“The link’s just buffering, give it a sec hon.” Amber nudged the mouse in the hope it would help and took a sip of too-hot coffee.

When the live feed had started, Kat was the first to jab a finger at the screen. “There’s Mela, she made it!” They watched their friend, shrouded in a burka, as she settled beside the Prince. “Christ, let’s hope this goes alright.”

CHAPTER LX – Ballet-hoo

With her boyish figure and the dramatic change of look, Natalia was almost a ‘travesti’ of herself. Head held high and neck elongated by good posture, from being the slouching tomboy of a little sister she suddenly owned the crowd. Moderated by the poise of the unexpected image, they clapped appreciatively to the elegance of an entrance which ended with Natalia standing stage centre, ready while Raven backed away. She was born to perform. How her heart raced to see them looking at her. With a twisting elevation of her arm a hush descended.

Ballerinatrix. An odd word and it repeated in Raven’s head. It didn’t take a genius to work out the implications. She had instinctively hated Natalia from the first moment she had seen her, with her ill-fitting and scruffy clothes, no comportment. The darkness the woman held inside, revealed as the days had crept past, only confirmed that hate.

Each woman stood looking at the other and each held the other in contempt. They were polar opposites, always destined to clash. Today was to be that day clearly, but also clear, even through the fog of Raven’s dimmed senses, was that she wouldn’t have been armed with her own bullwhip unless Natalia had something up her proverbial sleeve.

As small as Natalia was, Raven was certain that this would be her sternest challenge yet. She felt herself hardening as the Raven within her scrambled together all it had left. The game was set and if that is what they wanted, then bring it on. She was not going to go down to that spiteful little bitch.

Adjusting her grip on the bullwhip, the remnants of Raven shook out the curled leather braids to puddle them free on the sandy floor. Crouching slightly, she readied herself for what was to come as best she could.

Inside, she wished she could shake herself out as thoroughly as she did the whip but as a slow hand clap started in the crowd, it was clear she wouldn’t be allowed the time, even if she somehow found the ability.

Natalia adjusted in response. Placing her legs ‘en croise’, she also dipped slightly, ready. Thumbs pressed to middle fingers just as she had been doing since the age of two, her remaining fingers curled a little to further elongate the extension of her arms.

The two women gathered whatever they could of themselves, eyes never leaving the other as the slow hand clap gathered pace.

Inside Raven, hostility was rising. She needed it, fed on it. This was the woman who had planned her degradation all along. This was the woman who had interrupted the fuck of a lifetime and possibility shattered the dream hooked on it for ever. This was the woman who may have slammed the door to her future shut. This was a woman Raven hated more with every passing moment. God it felt good to hold a whip again.

Fuelled by the rage of feelings within, Raven was the first to move. Drawing back her arm, the long leather tail of the whip followed its arc and then snapped out as she threw her arm forward, ending with a flick of her wrist.

She had become accomplished with a bullwhip, some would say expert. She could precisely flay a nipple from ten feet away, but this time it wasn’t enough. On seeing the arm surge toward her, Natalia acquired elevation with a simple ‘temps levé’ and the end of the whip passed harmlessly beneath. A smile fixed on her lips in ‘epaulement’ as she had once been endlessly drilled to.

She had never missed before, and it had never mattered so much. Now it did matter, and hurriedly Raven gathered the whip back in.

“My turn.” Natalia’s statement was efficiently succinct, and her own assault began.

Usually a male move, Natalia didn’t hesitate in her ‘pirouette à la seconde’, spinning to her opponent’s left before Raven could react, then melding into ‘battement tendus’ to strike her already damaged shoulder.

The cry from Raven rang around the arena and told Natalia that she had lost none of her precision.

Watching her enemy stagger back, Natalia described a mocking ‘rond de jambe’ to display the foot that struck the woman so perfectly, the D shaped specifically to taunt the American woman’s decaying dominance.

== ~ ==

Never having been allowed to heal, it still nagged like a bitch but when Natalia kicked her shoulder, Raven barely managed to stay on her feet, staggering backwards to the peel of pain. The heels didn’t help. She loved her heels and what they offered her body by way of poise and shape, but with the sand on the arena floor it was a struggle to balance.

She would have to strike and strike quickly, and with that single thought in mind, Raven flailed out the bullwhip, only for it to again snap at air. The smaller woman melted away yet again, adopting a ‘batterie’ synchronised to the clapping of the crowd.

She was too quick, too athletic for the still groggy Raven. Stilettoes and natural elegance were tools of her trade but now they had been turned into weaknesses. She was all high heels and hurt in the face of flat-soled functionality and professional training. They were using all that she was against her and the realisation bore deep.

== ~ ==

Natalia had quickly realised how easy it would be. The larger American was too slow, too jaded and too clumsy to pose a threat. She would enjoy this. She would squeeze every last drop of satisfaction out of toying with her that she could. Alexei would see she was nothing. All that poise, all that elegance combined to a useless façade when set against classical training,
Russian
training.

Focussing on her ‘porte de bras’, Natalia concentrated hard. The Bolshoi had rejected her and she would show how wrong they had been. Her art demanded an audience and finally here she was, playing to a baying crowd. It was her destiny. They had tried to deny it and take it from her but nobody could do that, she was born to perform.

Her first ‘pirouette en dehors’ caused the crowd to gasp. She spotted Raven so she could watch her readiness to strike again. Natalia held her leg ‘in retire’ before a flick of the ankle saw her toes connect with Raven’s chin to send her reeling back again and delay her gathering of the whip. The second rotation returned ‘in retire’, before the third flicked out again and Natalia returned to ‘efface’ to check on the tall slender woman, who already sported a trickle of red from her lip.

She had never enjoyed ballet quite as much as she was doing now. She had largely abandoned her dream after the Bolshoi’s rejection but now, here, with
her
, it all came back and Natalia would have her vengeance over everything that had gone wrong before.

== ~ ==

Raven could taste the coppery hint of blood in her mouth. She was a claymore in a fight of rapiers, an ungainly giant pitched into a contest of speed and dexterity, yet she had to fight on.

She was being taken apart and had to find a way to hurt the bitch, to show her she still could but also to prove to herself that she wasn’t completely changed forever. If she could just catch her once, show the bitch, hurt the bitch.

It was so difficult though when all that she was seemed so out of place, so outdated. Statuesque elegance was being subjugated to pure functionality, while sexual confidence was giving way to hesitance and uncertainty. All that she was, was wrong.

At the far corner of the arena, the Jester cackled and jigged in devilish delight, pointing and waving his arms to whip up the crowd as one woman toiled, while the other one danced.

And so it continued - a balletic breaking of body and spirit. With each lunge of bullwhip into fresh air, the crowd laughed. With each perfectly described flick of foot or arm, the crowd cheered. All that is except the petite girl hidden under the burka, who winced as she watched.

An ‘assemble’ was followed by a ‘terre-à-terre’ movement to adjust Natalia’s angle of approach even as the bullwhip again whistled harmlessly past her head. A ‘cou-de-pied’ would form a pause while Natalia waited for the inspiration of her next move, interrupted by a ‘jete’ as she ducked away from the lash of the whip again before rising ‘en pointe’ and moving again in a ‘pas de bourrée’.

All so effortless, so graceful. All so different to the shabby-looking half-woman who had first stomped into Raven’s world. Raven could only look and lash out as each elevation resulted in another blow to both face and self-esteem.

‘Soubresaut’ followed ‘soubresaut’ and tears of pain merged with tears of humiliation and frustration. Raven was victim to a malicious echo of the national ballet. It had been set up as another tool of Moscow’s cultural assimilation program but now it was used as a tool to secure her final submission. Natalia’s strap-on bobbed to each movement in a dance of its own that even Noverre wouldn’t have been able to describe.

Raven’s right eye was swelling closed. Tears blurred the other. She guessed her cheek already bore a deep bruise and the coppery taste in her mouth was showing no signs of abating. Her shoulder felt like it had been jabbed with a white hot poker. She was already a mess and she knew it. She also knew Natalia was enjoying herself far too much to simply stop, and only she would decide when enough was enough. Raven had neither the speed nor the skill and the thought that she was powerless squeezed out more tears, causing her hastily-applied makeup to start to run.

She was Jacqueline again. It was with that realisation that she took the only option that was left to her. It wasn’t worth fighting about anymore.

Dropping her bullwhip to the floor, Jacqueline sank heavily to her knees, lowering her head to hide behind the flop of her black hair. There was nothing left to do and she said the words to save herself. “Please,
Mistress
, please. Show mercy…”

The words were the sweetest music to Natalia’s ears. Plumping what there was of her chest out, she swept her arms wide before bending deeply into a graceful bow.

The first shout of “Bravo” rang out as a man stood at the back of the arena to applaud. A second joined immediately to be followed by others until the whole arena stood while Raven knelt. With Mela reluctantly joining in polite applause just one person remained seated but when he finally stood, the applause died down and the crowd as one looked at Alexei.

== ~ ==

“Enough!” bellowed Alexei. He looked down at the broken woman who knelt into the centre of his arena. “She’s had enough.”

Natalia stiffened. This was
her
moment, and she wanted more. She strode over and grabbed the hair of the kneeling woman. “Sit down, brother. I decide when this is over.”

It was a direct and public challenge. Around the arena, nobody dared make a sound. The stand-off stretched until, in a slow, slithering descent from primacy, Alexei sank back into his chair to the undiluted roars of the crowd. Natalia snatched up Raven’s bullwhip.

The horror of the transfer of power wasn’t lost on Raven and when she felt pressure on her split lip, she meekly opened her mouth to allow her whip to be pressed inside as a bit. As the tail was wrapped twice, three times, around the lower part of her face, Jacqueline’s deepest fears bit deeper still. The female was indeed the deadlier of the species.

“Encore!” shouted the same pushy voice that had called out before.

“More!” cried a second voice, this time female from the opposite side.

“Fuck her!” beseeched another, to be met with bellows of agreement.

“Take her ass!” urged another to howls of laughter and support.

And so, head pulled back by her own bullwhip, Raven experienced the ultimate humiliation. The small sinister woman threw Raven’s head forward as she let go.

Natalia pirouetted round her ‘en pointe’, strap-on extending out with the momentum she carried with her.

A hand gripped the coil of the whip again, drawing back the head of the woman she so despised and tearing at the zip between her legs, Natalia exposed her for all to see.

“Your ass is
mine
, Ki-Ki, and don’t you forget it,” she growled, positioning herself squarely behind, hips withdrawn ready for her final assault.

As the strap-on pushed home, two screams accompanied it, one of agony, one of triumph. The camera zoomed in on Raven’s tortured face to catch every wrinkle of her absolute shame.