Identities Ch. 03-04

His eyes moved upwards slowly to lock with hers. Clear blue collided with hot black as Michael leaned forward over his captive, placing his hands over her wrists. His weight pressed her down into the chair, making her feel even more trapped beneath him. His face was now only a foot away from hers, forcing her to tilt her head back. And still she did not turn away from his all-consuming gaze. She wasn't able to.

"He's going to show you what it means to have a master."

Arley was frightened of Michael, was humiliated from being bound and exposed, but at his words, a small flame of anger flared inside her chest. Master?? Who the fuck does he think he is?

Michael's eyes never left her own as her anger grew stronger. His mouth curled into the mocking half-smile that she had already come to recognize.

"Yes, Nadia," he said thickly. "You have a master now."

Without warning, he lunged forward and pressed his mouth to hers, hard. A small shriek escaped her before she could stop herself, the sound swallowed by his mouth. His lips were rough, bruising, and she felt stunned and violated by the kiss. It wasn't, in fact, a kiss so much as it was a claim.

She wrenched her head away, gasping. But then his hand was wrapped in her hair, pulling her face back up to his, and his lips descended over hers again. She squirmed in the chair beneath him, unable to think, unable to breathe, her hands and feet twisting uselessly in their bindings. There was a heat now inside of her and it was spreading. It was anger, but it was also something else too, something Arley didn't want to think about.

She bit him. A surge of satisfaction rushed through her as he grunted and withdrew slightly. Then he bit her lower lip, hard. She yelped in pain, tasting blood. He yanked her head backwards, exposing her throat, and began to trail his mouth along her jaw.

"Nadia, Nadia," he murmured against her skin. "A good toy doesn't cause pain." His lips began to move down the side of her throat. "She only gives pleasure."

Arley cried out, helpless with rage and with longing as his tongue and lips lavished on her, the hair of his beard scratching and tickling her over-sensitive skin. The fire within her had fanned into an inferno. She tried to pull free for the hundredth time, but his hands were like steel in the strength of their grip.

"Your master is going to touch every inch of you, Nadia," Michael breathed heavily against her shoulder. "He's going to touch you like you've never been touched. Like you belong to him."

The hand not in her hair went to her breast and grasped it urgently, making her shudder beneath him. He groaned obscenely into the curve of her neck, and the sound of his satisfaction sent heat coursing through Arley's every vein. Then his fingers began to stroke the underside of her breast with surprising gentleness.

"No," she panted. Her whole body was ablaze now, and she could no longer distinguish between anger and desire. When she realized this, a flash of panic joined the tumult inside her. She could not be aroused by him, she could not!

"No!" she cried more forcefully, writhing beneath his hand and mouth. She reached desperately for some way to stop him. "No, I'm not Nadia, I'm not! Michael!" He laughed softly against the skin over her collarbone, his teeth grazing her.

Then he suddenly latched his mouth onto the place where her neck met her shoulder and began to apply a delicious pressure. A gasp tore from Arley's throat. Sensation radiated through her from his mouth, and his hand, which was still lightly massaging her breast. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and finger and she groaned involuntarily as heat shot straight down to her sex. This couldn't be happening.

Michael finally drew back and rose somewhat. His hand still twisted in the curls at the nape of her neck, he pulled her face up to meet his and Arley saw dazedly that his black eyes were like liquid pools, mesmerizing in their intensity. He continued to play with her nipple as he stared down at her, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. She tried to keep from her face the feelings that were burning through her, but knew it was hopeless. His eyes bored into her, preventing any retreat or concealment.

"He's going to take his pleasure from your perfect body, Nadia."

She stared helplessly up at him, her entire body on fire, her breath coming in shallow pants. He squeezed her nipple hard, and she whimpered in both pain and pleasure.

"Michael, please," she whispered.

At this, he smiled. He straightened fully, releasing her hair at last, but not moving away. His legs straddled the outside of hers where they were bound to the chair. He loomed over her, making her feel small -- a feeling still unfamiliar to her. Reaching down, he cradled her face in his hand, the motion almost tender.

"He's going to own you and make you his."

Something inside of Arley exploded. "Fuck you!" she snarled, ripping her face out of his grip, her hands balled into fists over the arms of the chair. She tried to push the chair back from him, but couldn't get any traction on the floor with her feet bound as they were.

Michael remained standing over her, his eyes travelling over her cut and swollen lips, the reddened skin now spotting her neck and shoulder, and her bared breast, thrust up over the cup of her bra, the nipple pebbled to perfect hardness from his touch. He looked satisfied. Satisfied -- and still hungry.

He caught her chin in his hand again, more harshly this time, and lifted her face to his. Arley glared up at him, keenly aware of the image she presented, half naked and bearing the markings of his attentions.

"I'm sure he's going to enjoy you in many ways," Michael murmured, bending over her, filling all the space above and before her, making her feel smothered. "But you know..." He let his voice trail away, his tone casual, but with a note of mocking cruelty beneath. His thumb left her chin and began to trace her lips, pressing gently against them. "...he seems like the kind of man who particularly enjoys having his cock sucked. Do you like sucking cock, Nadia?"

She tried to turn away, but his grip on her face tightened, becoming suddenly vice-like. He pressed his fingers hard into her cheeks, pulling her jaw down painfully and forcing her mouth open. His own lips parted as he bent closer, his breathing ragged now.

"I bet you love having a cock in your mouth, don't you, little girl?" he growled, his whole face alight with lust now. "Like any good toy."

She spat at him, her spit landing on his cheek. The second it left her mouth, she was terrified of his retaliation. But Michael only laughed. She watched, both mesmerized and disgusted, as he lifted his free hand to his face and scooped up her saliva onto one large finger. He lowered even further, bringing his lips so close that they just brushed hers, and then whispered against them, "That's the spirit."

Drawing back, he thrust his spit-coated finger into her mouth, the fingers of his other hand biting into her skin as he dragged her mouth open with brutal force. Arley cried out in pain. He only grinned and pressed further in, making her gag when his finger brushed the back of her throat. She tried to bite him, but his fingers were lodged too firmly in her cheeks. She was squirming frantically in the chair beneath him, desperate to be free. The pleasurable heat that had filled her body a few minutes ago was now gone, extinguished by pain and revulsion.

Abruptly, he withdrew his finger and released her. Her head fell forward, the skin of her face hurting horribly. A second later, she realized why Michael had let her go -- footsteps sounded in the hall, and then she heard the door open.

A powerful rush of relief swept over her as Michael backed away from the chair. Then the relief was blotted out by a deep, sickening shame. Here she sat, half-naked and bruised, displaying all the evidence of what Michael had been doing to her. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away furiously.

Michael was walking towards the door, unhurried as ever. She couldn't find it in her to raise her head and see who the other man was, but she could hear Michael clearly as he addressed the newcomer.

"Last chance to have a go at her before she's gone."

A small sob escaped Arley's lips. She bit her cut lip and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to press back the humiliation and misery howling inside her.

After a moment or two, she realized that the other man had come to stand next to her. Michael must have left the room. With her head still bowed, she could only see his jeans and wasn't sure who it was. She kept her lips pressed tightly together and didn't let any more sounds slip past them. But she couldn't stop the shaking that had come over her, or slow her over-fast breathing.

The man moved in front of her and Arley tensed, bracing herself to endure further pain and humiliation. He sank to one knee and she looked hesitantly into his face through her curtain of curls. It was Mark.

She thought he looked tense, unhappy even. She noticed this in a detached sort of way, the better part of her brain still preparing for whatever it was he would do to her.

His hand reached for her exposed breast and she sucked in her breath. But instead of grabbing or stroking her, he pulled the cup of her bra out from under her breast and covered her again. His finger brushed her skin as he did so, but he seemed not to be affected by the contact. Or if he was, he did not show it.

The next thing he did was to lift the straps of the dress up over her shoulders once more. Arley was staring at him now, searching his brown eyes for signs of his intentions. He, however, was resolutely not looking at her. His mouth was set and fine lines had appeared around the edges of his eyes as he turned to untie the ropes at her wrists.

Arley pulled her hands to herself the moment they were free, holding her arms protectively across her front as she rubbed her stinging wrists. A few minutes later, and her feet were unbound as well. Mark stood, and extended a hand to her. After a moment's hesitation, Arley put her hand in his, noting as she did so how small her fingers seemed when his closed around them. He drew her to her feet, one hand catching her under the elbow and steadying her as she stumbled, her bare feet numb and clumsy. He turned slightly, and picked up a length of rope from the chair.

"Please." Arley was a little startled to hear how broken and desperate her voice sounded, even to her own ears. She gazed up at Mark beseechingly, and found it was easy to plead. "Please don't."

His brows drew together a little as he looked down at her, but not as though he was angry. His warm eyes were troubled as they fell upon the raw skin of her wrists, and then the finger-shaped bruises on her arm from where Chris had grasped her yesterday. His gaze travelled to the marks left by Michael's teeth and mouth, to her battered lips. At last, to her eyes, now wet with tears.

"Am I so dangerous?" she asked in a small voice.

Mark let out his breath, and set the rope aside. Taking her hand again, he walked with her out into the hall. He brought her to the top of the stairs going down into the basement, but then paused when she tugged on his hand.

"Wait, I..."

He looked back at her. With a great effort, Arley forced herself to speak calmly.

"Can I go to the bathroom first?"

For one heart-stopping moment, Arley was irrationally convinced that Mark knew exactly what was in her mind. But perhaps he took her wide eyes and breathlessness as signs of lingering trauma, for he nodded and changed direction.

Again, he allotted her five minutes. And then she was alone in the bathroom.

She sped across the room without pausing and scrambled up onto the toilet. The window was stiffer than she had hoped, the old wood protesting creakily as she pulled at the sash. She managed to haul it up, and a blast of chilly air flooded the room. Gritting her teeth and muttering a stream of vicious swear words under her breath, Arley clambered through the window. It was not at all a graceful exit. The edges of the window frame were chipped with peeling paint which caught at her skin and dress as she wriggled through the small opening. Finally, with one last shove, she tumbled onto the ground outside.

The grass beneath her bare feet was freezing. She blocked out the pain of it and started running, as hard as she could, for the trees. You stay moving, you stay warm, she told herself as her feet thudded quietly over the frozen earth. Dressed as she was, and with the temperature where it was, she knew she would need to exert herself as much as she was able just to generate enough body heat to survive. A cold wind off the sea blew around her as she ran, licking the last of the warmth from the surface of her skin.

She was halfway to the forest when she heard a raised voice from the house behind her. She didn't dare look back, but ran harder, panic inflating inside her chest. The trees, get to the trees!

She made it. It took all of her concentration to find the right places for her feet to land among the tangle of roots over the forest floor. She had just enough sensation left in her feet to feel the dampness of the mulch-strewn ground beneath her.

Arley flew through the forest, whipping past trunks and under boughs. Behind her, she could hear men shouting and knew they were coming after her. She leapt over a splashing brook without breaking stride and kept running, terrified.

Find a road, find a road, find a road... There were no more noises from her pursuers now. The only sounds she could hear were the drumming of her feet on the ground, her own ragged breathing. Tree after tree after tree. The cold air tore her throat with every gasp. Her chest was close to bursting, and the muscles in her legs were screaming for her to relent. Still she ran.

The trees ahead began to thin. Arley could see an open expanse of grass and sky waiting beyond the forest. Praying desperately that there would be some sign of civilization -- a road, a house, anything -- she raced towards the last of the trees.

She emerged from the woods and tore across a field and up the small hill in front of her. She climbed higher and higher up the hillside, and beyond the top of the hill she could see nothing but sky, which could only mean one thing--

She crested the hill and staggered to a halt, swearing violently. The land before her tumbled down a pebble beach to the sea. Panic exploded inside her as she scanned the churning waves. A goddamn inlet, one of the thousands of bays that fragmented the coastline into fingers of sea and land.

To her right stretched the open ocean, the colour of iron under the early winter sun. So inland was left. She cast her eyes in that direction, and felt her heart leap. There was a road.

She pelted towards it, running along the ridge of the hill and then down onto flat land once more. She felt exposed without the cover of the trees, but there was nothing for it. She couldn't go back into the forest now that they had seen her enter it. Even if they hadn't, she couldn't hide -- it was now either keep moving or freeze to death. If she could just hail a car...

The ocean wind blasted across her bare limbs, leaving her painfully numb. Her legs and dress were splattered almost entirely with frozen mud. She knew she didn't have much longer until her body succumbed to the cold. There was no longer any feeling in her feet or hands. The muscles beneath her freezing skin were still warm, still moving, but not for much longer. She pushed on, willing herself to keep going.

Then she was scrambling up the ditch and onto the pavement of the road and running down its centre. Please let there be a car, please oh please.

And miraculously, a car appeared. A big black one peeled around the road ahead of her and zoomed in her direction.

Arley waved wildly, shouting at it. There was no way it could not see her. She stood plain as day in the middle of a straight stretch.

"Help me!" she screamed. Surely he would stop. He must -- she would if it were her. Anyone would.

The car was still a few hundred yards away when Arley realized something was wrong. It was the speed of the thing, how it hurtled straight at her without the slightest pause. The driver didn't seem the least bit startled or uncertain by the sight of a ludicrously-underdressed, scratched, muddied, and screaming woman hailing them.

Fuck.

Arley turned back the way she had come, now trying to escape the car and who she knew must be inside of it. She tumbled into the ditch and started running back towards the trees, no coherent thought in her mind other than flight. She could hear car tires screeching behind her, but didn't look back. Out of nowhere flashed through her mind the voice of her old track and field coach: Don't ever look back, it makes you run crooked. And it shows weakness.

Car doors opening. The impact of every footfall shook her entire body as she ran flat out. Her searing muscles felt watery now, and her heart was banging so hard and fast she feared it would break. Her breaths were coming so quickly she knew she was at risk of passing out from dangerously low levels of carbon dioxide in her blood.

She was over halfway to the forest when she saw a man emerge from the trees, running straight at her. Mark. Arley skidded to a halt in the middle of the grassy field and turned. From the direction of the road, Michael, Daniel and Chris were all racing towards her. She was trapped between trees and road, trapped between one captor and three.

Overcome with panic now, Arley tried to run parallel to the road, out from between her pursuers. But they altered course and started to close in on her. They were much faster, all of them, and gained ground easily.

Mark, who was closest, was now within fifteen feet of her. She swerved wildly, turning about to dodge him. And found herself facing the other three, so close now that she could see the sheen of sweat on their faces. They slowed to a walk and spread out in front of her, blocking her way in every direction. Cornered now, Arley stumbled backward, and in doing so, a sickening wave of déjà vu swept over her. She was back in the alley, with Michael, Chris, and Daniel advancing on her and Mark coming at her from behind.

She turned again, unable to re-enact the choreography of her capture, knowing that to do so would break her. Mark stood directly before her. In a last-ditch attempt, she tried to dart around him. His arm shot out and caught her hard around the middle, winding her. He swung her about with terrifying ease and pulled her body to his, causing her face to land in his shoulder. Arley thrashed and kicked in frenzied struggle, but he caught her arms and held them behind her back, locking her into a bear-hug. She was shaking from exertion and cold. Her chest heaved against his, her lungs crying out for oxygen after so much running.

"It's over, Nadia." She felt the rumble in his chest as he spoke, pressed to him as she was. She pulled against his hold uselessly, the edges of her mind slipping away into hysteria.

Another man approached her from behind and she felt a thin, hard strip of plastic encircle her wrists -- held in place by Mark -- and tighten painfully. Then a hand grabbed her upper arm roughly and yanked her out of Mark's arms. She fell sideways into Michael. Glancing up, she found his black eyes lancing through her, his face twisted by anger.

"Stupid, stupid little girl," he hissed. He shook her, and her numb feet staggered over the frozen grass. He leaned over, bringing his face next to hers. She twisted her head away, closed her eyes. The icy wind gusted around them and Arley shook harder, her very brain now aching with cold.