Kept Women: Two Fertile Submissive Stories (3 page)

A week passed eerily fast.

On day seven, being bathed in constant
luxury wasn't such a shock. As much as I didn't want to admit it,
my Russian benefactor was right about one thing: discipline worked
wonders.

My day gained a predictable regularity that
was peaceful. Some days, I hoped little Grigor would give me more
of a challenge. But he went along wherever I led him, and tolerated
my presence as I snatched at his schoolwork and poured over it,
looking for his pen marks and full essays on screen as best I
could.

At least I could understand the math. Sort
of.

Grigor was already into beginning algebra,
and I ran my fingers over the lines, looking for errors. There were
none. When it came to education, the Russians didn't mess
around.

Things wouldn't have been so boring if
Nicholas hadn't vanished. But he'd been strangely absent since the
second day after I arrived, when he departed in another sleek
mini-limo.

Natasha, the surly old woman who ran the
house, told me he wouldn't return for another week. She didn't
bother to hide her contempt for me whenever I asked about my
missing employer.

We were both in the small dining area,
taking a mid-day break with sandwiches and small salads the
servants had prepared. The older women shunned me, keeping to
themselves, and left me nowhere to sit except at the senior
manager's lonely table.

I dared to ask him about him again, and
received a chill blast of wind to the face.

“
What is this? You, girl,
are not Mr. Voroshlov's wife. No one will ever have that honor
again. Keep your foreign sensibilities in the closet and do your
duty. This is what he has hired you for.” She turned her nose up, a
high, skinny woman with deep lines on her face.

I wanted to grab the bitch's short curly
hair. It wasn't the first time she'd treated me coldly.

On the other hand, the last thing I needed
to do was stir up trouble in the first month, which was a trial for
me and Mr. Voroshlov.

“
What happened to his
wife?” I said, not really expecting a serious answer.

Natasha's fork clattered on her plate and
she looked up. She resembled a suspicious, arrogant bird, looking
me over, up and down, like I was about to rob the place.

“
You are really asking me
this question?”

“
What do you
think?”

The old women clenched her jaw. She cleared
her throat loudly, tearing at the tablecloth clasped tight in her
bony fingers.

“
You are very bold for an
American girl. Fine.” She took a deep breath before resuming. “Your
courage will not let you understand what things were like during
the Motherland's painful rebirth. It was terrible. Hunger,
corruption, and violence everywhere. It was every man for himself.
Every man and his family.”

“
Yeah, I'm familiar with
the history.” I stabbed at my salad, crunching through crisp little
beet cubes as I watched her sullen face. “I know it was a hard time
transitioning to freedom and democracy.”

Though dear old Dad would say Mother Russia
hasn't managed to do that yet. But we won't go there. I'm
interested in Nicholas. Not every little thing this strange country
has suffered.

“
Then you know about the
drinking, the drugs, the starvation in the streets? The Voroshlovs
were finally able to do something about it. They were the lucky
ones – an old family with money and business sense to spare –
without the greed of the oligarchs. They brought their money back
here from their foreign bank accounts. They did very well abroad,
and they wanted to
share
the wealth. Such a rare thing, you understand –
especially for a family that fared well under all our Tsars,
Christian and Communist.”

“
I gathered as much.” So,
Nicholas' family had always been rich.

“
Their personal affairs
were finished in no time. Then they went to work on the people,
feeding and employing a whole village just outside the city. Mr.
Voroshlov upset many.”

“
Upset? Why?” I relaxed a
little, genuinely curious. I still wasn't sure where this was
going, and what it had to do with the vanished Mrs.
Voroshlov.

“
Powerful men have no
interest in charity. They pretend they do, but only for their own
devices. You think they wanted men like Mr. Voroshlov taking their
place with true generosity? The criminals killed his Masha as
punishment! The Bratva gave him sin and sorrow for his
kindness.”

Natasha rose, pointing her finger at me. I
lurched back. My chair scraped the floor loudly.

“
They blew up her car
while she was out for a drive! Thank God she was alone, and little
Grigor wasn't there! THANK GOD!”

I was with a mad woman. Or was it just the
way these people reacted after real tragedy?

I watched, cautious and wide eyed, as
Natasha spread her spindly arms up at the ceiling, facing the
heavens. Tears ran down her old face, suddenly much softer. Then
the mellowness faded when she turned those hawkish eyes on me
again.

“
Now, look at what you've
done! Upsetting all our memories, our emotions...things that
deserve to be buried in this house forever, like sweet Masha
Sergeyeva in her tomb!” She leaned over the table, planting her
hands near her plate for support, never breaking our
gaze.

“
Don't think you will have
him, girl. And if you do, you'll be another plaything. Mr.
Voroshlov lost his true love, and no one will ever replace her. I
won't let you. I'll see this house destroyed before it sins against
itself.”

I'd had enough. I threw my chair back all
the way. The servants behind us were whispering loudly among
themselves, babbling in rapid fire Russian about the spectacle
unfolding.

“
I didn't mean to upset
you, Mrs. Vladkov.” I decided to restore a little formality, hoping
it would smooth things over. “Goodnight.”

Her hard, hateful eyes trailed me like ready
guns all the way to the door. When I slipped outside the kitchen, I
sucked in a deep breath, just happy to be out of there.

I wasn't used to such deadly serious
business and bad memories. But damn, if I was going to make it
here, I told myself I better get used to it. And fast.

Still no sign of Nicholas on day ten. My
curiosity and isolation was getting the best of me.

He should've been back any day. There must
have been some unbearable delay, something that kept me from the
man who'd brought me to this madhouse.

Grigor had eaten dinner and gotten all
tucked in for the night. My stomach growled, but I wasn't going to
go to the kitchen.

It was too early. I minimized my encounters
with the other staff. Shy, mistrustful women who stared at me from
a distance, always lowering their eyes whenever I passed.

Everyone except Natasha Fedorova, of course.
I didn't dare risk a second explosion with her. I'd managed to
avoid her since the blow out in the kitchen, thankful for small
favors.

I wandered the lonely halls, unsure if
melancholy or frustration were eating at me more. I was beginning
to doubt my wealthy savior.

Where the hell is he?I'm right back where I
started – wandering the empty spaces all by myself. Not even a note
by pigeon.

I went up, taking the crimson steps one at a
time, slow and deliberate. Natasha's words, though harsh, had some
truth.

What business did I have nurturing this
silly attraction to a foreigner I barely knew? Hell, a man who was
now my boss!

Rounding the corner, I saw the statues. I
hadn't been up there since I'd been given the grand tour. Their
hard, tall silhouettes drew me in.

Soon, I was standing in front of them,
peering up at the unforgiving faces. I stopped and stared, admiring
the art at my leisure. Their strict faces echoed my concerns, my
doubts. After a moment, I tore myself away from the heinous
things.

When I stepped away, I noticed the door. The
tight black double door to Nicholas' private apartment wasn't fully
closed.

Curiouser and curiouser. Who could be in
there?

I pinched one eye shut and looked through
the small crack in the door. I saw a dim lit receiving room with
fine décor and tall bookshelves, the kind of sitting room I'd seen
in Presidential suites at nice hotels.

I couldn't help it. My fingers pushed on the
door, praying there weren't any oily hinges. It opened silently,
and I moved in.

There were no great secrets waiting just
beyond the door. None I could see, anyway. A few cabinets, a
spacious bathroom, a personal bar stacked high with fresh
liquors.

I moved on. The bedroom door was open.

My flesh warmed and rippled lightly as I
crossed the threshold. There was a massive canopy bed in the
center, its dark curtains drawn back – and what was laying on the
neatly made up mattress?

I shouldn't be going in here. But I
shouldn't be bored to death either.

I'd forgotten all about the other intruder
who must've been inside. I stepped closer, closer, my eyes fixed on
the dark shapes laying on the silky sheets.

“
What? What's this doing
here?”

I stared down at the bed where someone had
laid out a fine pair of folded lingerie, black and lacy cups with
matching panties tucked beneath them. Above them rested a sleek
pair of handcuffs and a thick black blindfold, lovingly stamped
with wavy gold flourishes on both sides.

An enticing, mysterious, strangely beautiful
sight. I began to reach out, and practically jumped through the
ceiling when I heard his voice.

“
April! I've been
expecting you.”

I spun, falling back unevenly on the bed as
I saw Nicholas, stripped to just a button down shirt and fine
trousers for the first time. Beneath the casual veneer, he was
smiling, an invitation written on his firm, tight lips.

“
Fuck! Don't you know it's
rude to sneak up on people?” I beamed my harshest glare at him. Or
tried to.

When I locked eyes with him for more than a
second, my confidence and irritation melted, swift as lightning
striking a snowy field. I withered, struggling to sit upright on
the bed.

“
You know what's more rude
than that?” He came closer, and opened his mouth to speak before I
had a chance to ask. “Sneaking into a man's private chamber, his
most intimate place. Especially when the man told you it was
off limits
in no
uncertain terms.”

Shit!

I wilted in place. I couldn't remember the
last time I'd been shamed, but I doubted I ever felt as rightly
humiliated as this.

“
But you...you left your
door open. It's like you wanted me here.” I looked up, cold
realization winding through my body. Then the ice split, making way
for fierce warmth to roil up my blood.

“
A test. I wanted to see
if you were the person I thought you were, April. You mean well, of
course. You're a good worker when you want to be. Kind and caring
too. But you can also be a nosy little brat, can't you?”

I flushed beet red. How could he talk to me
like that? How!

I stood off the bed, ready to march past
him. Nicholas was too quick. He turned his back, slid across the
room like a panther, and slammed the door to his bedroom shut.

A hard lump formed in my
throat. Whether I liked it or not, something wild and unforgettable
was about to happen here, and the worst part was I
wanted
it.

I was ready to be an offering. Ready to be
claimed. Ready to give up soft flesh and virgin kisses to this
Russian beast, this titan who promised to deliver everything that
made me shake and cream and ache.

“
Is this the way you treat
all your nannies? Your playthings?” I gritted my teeth, using the
same frightening term Natasha had used.

“
Ha! Oh, my
slavni katyonak
...” he
shook his head slightly, grinning.

I looked at him like he'd called me a filthy
whore. For all I knew, he really had.

“
My
little kitten
, you have so much to
learn about me” he said, returning to English. “It's true. I've
played with other women. But none of them wanted this like you. I
can see it in your eyes.”

“
Wanted what!” I
stammered. Feeble and flustered, I took a step backward, closer to
the wall and away from the bed.

My legs wouldn't work anymore after that. I
didn't move as he came all the way to me, nor even when he reached
out and caressed my cheek with his hard hand.

There was no more point in denying the
raging attraction. The time for games had ended, and we both knew
it.

“
I played with my
mistresses to satisfy a passing hunger. You, April, are meant to be
savored, an
indulgence
for a deeper lust. I hired you to take care of Grigor, but I
knew you'd be the one to satisfy me the way a real woman should.
Beautiful actors are no substitute for a perfect, honest
submissive.”

I struggled to hold my eyes on his.
Nicholas' irises glowed brighter than ever, fire and ice colliding,
and those dark, rich centers pulling me into a more irresistible
place...

He leaned forward. His arms went around me,
and I exhaled sharply as I collapsed into his grasp. I wasn't ready
for his lips, but that just made their sultry impact even
hotter.

The burn. The absolute fucking fire!

Every part of me gushed. Muscles clenched
deep inside me, releasing in a wet, hot lick of raw desire. When I
finally recovered enough to anchor my lips on his, Nicholas had a
new shock ready.