Wallbanger (13 page)

She fell hard onto her hands and bumped her
face on the floor. Then she rolled to her knees, dipping low to
kiss both of her Master’s feet.

“See,” Sacha said, “The perfect bitch. Keep
the hand heavy and they won’t step out of line. Know what else?” he
continued without waiting for an answer, “She’ll be right here when
I get back. She’s a good puppet.

“Sumi, show that one around,” Sacha ordered,
motioning to Kizzie, “if it’s all right with you, Xander.”

Sacha turned to enter his office and Xander
glanced at Kizzie, angry eyes watching him from beneath her lashes.
He mouthed, “Keep cool.” She winked and he almost smiled.

Once in the office, Xander admired the art on
the dark walls. All were depictions of women in bondage, and he
recognized Nancy Peach’s
Two Knotty Boys
dominating the
space over Sacha’s desk.

Obvious and arrogant
.

He checked his watch—Marchande would need at
least an hour—and settled his gaze on the man seated behind the
wooden table, rifling through a drawer. Sacha removed a mirror and
a baggie; went about preparing lines of cocaine.

Dropping into a wingback, Xander declined the
hollow pen shaft his host offered.

“Purest white this side of the Atlantic. Sure
you don’t want a pinch?” Sacha asked with a slow smile. He inhaled
a line and sniffed.

Xander shook his head. “Talk first.”

“No playing until business is done.”

“Is that what this is, Sacha? Business?” He
didn’t bother to mask his sarcasm. “I was under the impression
tonight was all play.”

“Nikolay always said you were a very serious
man.” He tossed a bag of powder on the table. “For later. Get a
little in that pretty bitch and she’ll scream and beg all at the
same time.”

He lifted the bag in thanks and slipped the
blow into his breast pocket. “Any news on Nikolay?” Xander asked,
diverting the topic from Kizzie.

Sacha frowned. “Why would there be news? You
know as well as I do that he’s dead.” Another line and he groaned
with delight. “This is why I wanted to talk to you, Xander.
Obviously, my father’s business is now under my sole control, which
means we need to renegotiate your involvement in it.”

“‘Renegotiate my involvement’,” Xander
repeated slowly. Already the man was making a move.

“Yes.” Sacha grinned. “Nikolay was going
soft, too…Americanized—no offense intended. The way he dressed and
the way he talked. He wanted that easy life, and once he knew he
could have it, he lost the hunger for this business.

“First he loosens his control in supplying
the rebels, lets another dealer take that on; just
gives
it
to him.” He shook his head. “It’s like the drug business. You don’t
let another dealer sell on your corner, on your block, or in your
city. Know why?”

Xander took an impatient breath, but indulged
him. “Why’s that, Sacha?”

“Because the junkies will get their fix from
him—taking money out of your pocket. Those rebels, they are the
junkies. They don’t
need
the plastics and guns and ammo
Nikolay sold them, but they
crave
it. Have to have it even
though no one around is strong enough to challenge them; not the
army, or the police, and definitely not the little tribes they
fight. But who’s getting that money now? The other dealer, because
my…
father
could no longer stomach the risks. Weak….” He
sneered as though there was a rancid taste in his mouth. “Bad
business to make the next guy rich and make yourself a fool,
yes?”

Another hit of white powder and Sacha lifted
his glassy gaze. “Do I look like a fool to you, Xander?”

* * * *

The door shut, leaving Kizzie with the two
bobbleheads, one still bowed on the hard floor, the other standing
with her gaze in the same direction. Staring at the ground made her
neck hurt and she lifted her head to the ceiling to stretch it,
looked over the upright marionette. The girl was of East Asian
decent, straight black hair falling just to her shoulders. She was
shorter than Kizzie by a couple inches, with a slender build and
little feet. She looked so frail and delicate, but her face was
bubbly and joyous as a cartoon character’s, with bright eyes and a
tiny pink mouth.

“What’s your name?” Kizzie hadn’t heard Sacha
when he barked it.

“Kas—” she paused and then smiled, clasped
her hands in front of her body, “Kasumi, but everyone calls me Sumi
for short.”

“And her?”

“Zlata.” The girl kept her voice so low it
was almost nonexistent.

Nothing’s louder than silence in a
madhouse
, Kizzie thought. She’d have to be careful, but if she
played her cards right, the subs might be a source of invaluable
info about Harvey, and her next—
blech
—Master.

“Come,” Sumi whispered, “I will show you
around.” She headed off in the direction of the playrooms.

Kizzie followed, noticing the tattoo on the
girl’s shoulder. Hard to make out through the ropes, but it
appeared to be a circle in a circle, two characters inked beneath
them. Marks around each ankle depicted a coil of knotted rope
similar to the ones she wore on her body. Talk about devotion to
your Master. “What about her?”

“Zlata will stay for the Kukol´nik . It is
her place.” The woman’s voice was so dreamy Kizzie wondered if
she’d been smoking something. “Besides, you will have a hard time
understanding each other, Gigi. Zlata only speaks Russian. Are you
fluent?”

Kizzie lied.

“I only know a few phrases,” Sumi said. “But
I hope to learn.”

Her place
. She mulled those words over
in her head.

On the first pass through the house Kizzie
noticed there were no male subs in the building—and no female
Dommes. Clearly Sacha had mommy issues. She wasn’t sure how long
she’d last with him referring to her as “bitch”. He didn’t know how
close he was to having his balls kicked in. And ‘Kukol´nik ’?
Puppet Master?
Pull their strings and make them dance
, he’d
said. She was beginning to like Sacha less and less.

A slow tour through the first set of torture
rooms and Kizzie had seen enough the first time. This party was
vastly different from what happened on Xander’s yacht in Mauritius.
The people there seemed genuinely fulfilled in their roles as
submissives—fine by Kizzie so long as they wanted to.

Sacha’s girls looked barely legal, underfed,
and didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves at all. That is, she
amended, if they even knew what was happening. Catatonic was
putting it mildly. Living dead was more like it. She’d already
determined Sacha was on coke by the way he constantly played with
his nose and the glazed eyes. No reason to assume the girl’s
weren’t addicted to something too. The guardian in her screamed,
and she decided she couldn’t retire from this business after all,
because once this gig was over and Harvey was in hand, Sacha
Sokoviev would die.

Kizzie wished she had her shoes on. A random
thought to think after premeditating a murder, but something about
walking around this place barefoot made her work to recall the date
of her last tetanus shot. The chateau was immaculate inside,
everything polished and dusted and shiny-looking, but it still had
that New York City side alley feel to it. Grimy.

They turned up a corridor off the main one
they’d travelled. “The front hall features all the puppets and
pay-for-play,” Sumi began. “The Kukol´nik allows Doms without
slaves to play with us sometimes for a price.

“But the submissives on this hallway are
slaves to visiting Masters.” Sumi’s voice was a bit louder than
before, but still just as dream-like. “Every girl inside is
collared, like you, and most of the Masters are teaching other
Dominants advanced edgeplay techniques.”

She stepped inside a room and Kizzie
followed. A handful of people stood about in absolute silence. On
the bed, a woman laid spread eagle on a tarp, hands and feet
secured by shackles to the heavy wooden bedposts. Apart from the
blindfold over her eyes she was naked, open legs facing the doorway
with a clear view of her nether bits.

At the head of the bed, a man sat beside her,
quietly whispering to the girl. A woman wearing latex gloves
approached, clad in leather pants and a tight black bustier that
forced her large breasts up higher. She removed a needle from a
sterile package and, once given the signal from the Dom, uncapped
the sharp point and gripped a small portion of the bound sub’s
belly. Moving slowly, she inserted the needle into the skin,
pushing until the point came out on the other side.

The girl on the bed cried out, tugging on one
chain. Then she settled again as though nothing had happened.

Kizzie thought she’d faint. For someone who
handled knives regularly, needles made her squirm. She absently
wondered if Xander was into this.

“Have you ever done a piercing scene?” Sumi
asked quietly. When Kizzie shook her head she turned to show the
set of puncture wounds on her upper back. “It is an amazing rush.
It’s like…like pain and….” She sighed. “I can’t explain. The
Kukol´nik will show you.”

Like hell he will.

They watched the process over and over until
the piercee had one vertical line of horizontal-facing needles on
either side of her belly button. The man removed the panting girl’s
blindfold, and she looked down at the work on her middle.

“How do you feel,” the Dom asked aloud.

She tilted her head to look at him with
pleasure-filled eyes. “Great, Master. Thank you.”

The other woman corked the ends of the
needles before standing between the spread legs. Knees on the bed,
she bent in the space, the move revealing a perfect split along the
seam of her pants that exposed the tight pink rosebud of her anus.
She put her mouth on the bound girl’s body, making her writhe in
the bindings.

A male member of the small audience donned a
rubber and positioned himself just behind the ass in the air. The
woman paused her clit-job long enough to spread her legs wider,
allowing him to seat himself in her anus, and then resumed eating
the pussy she’d abandoned.

Whoa
. Kizzie’s eyes widened, staring
at the three people on the bed. The Master looked on from the head,
pride in his eyes.

“Sex with the needles still in…” Sumi
shivered happily. “You like watching, Gigi. I can tell; you’re all
flushed.”

The man’s hips snapped against the woman’s
ass, and Kizzie felt her own body respond. She fanned her face.

“I know,” Sumi agreed.

The triplet on the mattress finished their
show with the pierced woman screaming and the man pulling from the
middle woman’s body. Her ripped off the condom, stroking his dick
firmly, coaxing until his seed spilled all over her ass.

“Anyone else want to go?” The Dom asked,
unshackling the bottom.

Sumi looked at her, and Kizzie declined.
“Another scene, then.”

The two travelled from room to room, half of
Kizzie’s brain in horny-mode from watching threesomes and spankings
and sex in positions she was sure defied physics, the other half
mapping out her route through the complex. She kept track of each
hallway on a mental grid, and a smile on her face while Sumi
spoke.

“Where’s Sacha?” A pudgy man in a brown shirt
stopped the pair en route to the office.

Sumi kept her head bowed, didn’t flinch as
the man ran his hands over her breasts. “In with another, Master
Vadim.”

The man twisted the girl’s nipple, slapped
her breast. Then he turned to Kizzie. “Who’s this?”

“Gigi. She is a visiting Master’s
submissive.”

“Hello,” Vadim said.

Kizzie didn’t respond.

“I believe Gigi is only allowed conference
with the puppets, Master Vadim,” Sumi explained.

“Understandable. Have a good evening.”

“Likewise.”

He departed and they moved along without
incident.

“Thank you,” Kizzie mumbled.

Returning to where Zlata still sat in her
“Please, ’ave mercy, guv’na”
stance, arms fully extended
toward her owner behind the door, Kizzie took a breath to keep from
screaming. If the “demonstration” Sacha put on was a regular
occurrence, this girl was being abused. The way Xander was with
her—firm at times, gentle others and generally confusing the hell
out of her—
that
Kizzie could do. She could handle that kind
of mindfuck. Not that she was looking for it, but if she were…. If
this
was the Lifestyle, this complete disregard for one’s
personal safety, they could have at it.

On a settee across from Sacha’s door, Sumi’s
stiff posture reminded Kizzie to sit upright. She closed her knees
and straightened her torso. Uncomfortable, but she held it. Then
she implemented operation flip-a-sub. If one of these girls would
talk, they might tell her about Sacha’s patterns and she could use
the Intel to determine where he was hiding Harvey. Given that Zlata
wasn’t allowed to move, Sumi seemed the logical choice.

“How many subs does your Ma—”

“We are not ‘subs’ here, we are puppets. The
Kukol´nik prefers it that way.” Pleasant smile.

Her eyes found the rope around the girl’s
neck. She’d wondered at the simple collar with the black ‘SS’
embossed in the white leather square. Now it made sense—hang tags.
Like the type one would find on a doll—
or a puppet
—in a toy
store, the ‘SS’ for Sacha Sokoviev, no doubt. Kids usually wrote
their names on their toys.

She returned Sumi’s mild gesture and reworded
the question. “How many
puppets
does he have?”

“Ten,” Sumi responded, then her face clouded
and she corrected with, “I mean, nine. We recently lost one.”

The doll didn’t elaborate, but from what
Kizzie had seen of his subs in the playrooms she figured he’d
probably beaten the stuffing out of the poor thing. Sacha didn’t
appear the type a puppet left. Not breathing, anyway.