Identities Ch. 05

The sight of her reflection startled her. Her eyes seemed too large for her face, and her bold brows were too heavy and harsh, making her whole face look angular, drawn. The bruising over her left cheekbone stood in severe contrast to the pallor of her chilled skin, as did the red patches along her neck and collarbone, partially hidden by the wet locks of hair curling there. Had it really only been two days since she was snatched from that alleyway?

For the first time since her capture, Arley thought of the life she been taken from – of school and her future career, of friends and family. Until this point, she had been too focused on escape to even consider what her future would look like if she never made it free. She considered it now, and considered too all that she would lose. She had been kidnapped on Thursday night and it was now Saturday. Had Rachel contacted anyone? What would her other friends think when they didn't hear from her all weekend? What would they do on Monday when she did not appear in class? How long would it be before people started looking for her?

With a horrible sinking feeling, she realized that by the time the police were involved and the search for her began properly, she would already be in Berlin.

She jumped and backed away from the sink as the bathroom door opened abruptly. Chris entered the room, filling it, his eyes fixing on her the second they found her. Arley, who had been expecting Mark, recoiled from the big man and clutched the towel tighter to herself.

"You've got a present," Chris smirked.

Her eyes darted down to the item he held in his hand. She couldn't see it clearly, and only caught a glimpse of gold behind his fingers before she quickly lifted her eyes to his face again. She said nothing, but watched him carefully, afraid of what he was going to do next.

He stepped closer and she hurriedly stepped back. But there was really nowhere to go in the little room. Her heart began to drum faster and she tried to focus on breathing steadily.

Chris raised the item in his hand and Arley saw that it was a smooth band of gold, only about an inch wide, but solid looking, fashioned into a circle about the size of an orange. She looked up at Chris again, uncomprehending.

Moving even closer, Chris raised a hand and placed it upon her shoulder, next to her neck. His thumb brushed the base of her throat. Every nerve in Arley's body was jangling, crying out for her to fight, to flee. But she did not move or speak. She felt his power over her in the weight of his touch, the intimacy and the oppression of it, his skin hot against her own. She looked up fearfully into his broad, tanned face. His gaze was lowered to the exposed skin of her neck and the swell of her breasts, just visible beneath the towel that she pressed against herself. Nervously, Arley pulled the towel a bit higher. Chris' eyes traveled slowly back up to meet hers. He smiled.

Then his other hand was bringing the golden circle toward her, and she realized what it was.

"No!" she gasped. She tried to draw back from him, but the hand on her shoulder slid to the back of her neck and grabbed her there, locking her in place. Her one free hand scrabbled uselessly at his wrist, trying to push away the approaching metal ring.

But in the passing of two seconds, it was done. The collar slipped around her neck and locked in place so smoothly she barely felt the click of the hidden latch. She let out a cry of horror, her fingers searching frantically along the length of metal for a way to undo it. It was perfect, void of any hinge or opening. Unassailable. Panic inflated inside her. The weight of the thing was light, but she felt it constantly against her throat, an endless reminder of the authority von Bauer exerted over her, as thought it was his hand and not the golden metal that touched her at this vulnerable place. She felt as though she was going to suffocate.

In the midst of her panic, she felt Chris grab her roughly by the wrist and drag her forward. He twisted her free arm behind her back and spun her around to face the mirror, his body planted behind hers. Staring wide-eyed at his reflection behind her in the mirror, Arley saw a look of excitement in the tall man's eyes. Then she saw her own image in the glass and an anguished sob tore from her throat. Despite its rich golden glimmer, the band at her neck was unmistakably a collar. She looked like property.

Tears burned in her eyes and she pulled at Chris' grip as he laughed mockingly. He slipped a finger beneath the collar at the back of her neck, making it press on her windpipe.

"Stay still now," he chided. And he tugged at the metal band, cutting off her air momentarily.

Arley stopped struggling, terrified of choking. The collar was snug enough that when he hooked his finger inside it, the pressure on her throat increased to the point that she could barely breathe. She stood quaking against him, praying that he would remove his finger. But he did not.

"I think I want a selfie of this," Chris said. She could hear the gloating pleasure in his voice and wondered fleetingly what she had done to deserve his spite. "Maybe I'll send it to von Bauer, show him how nice his present looks. Or maybe I'll just keep it. Something to remember you by."

Arley closed her eyes as tears of shame clustered upon her lashes, and tried simply to breathe against the horrible squeezing at her throat. She felt Chris' huge body shifting against hers as the hand not at her collar released her wrist and rummaged in his pockets. Her newly-freed hand traveled automatically to the collar, but Chris growled, "Oh no you don't," and tugged again at it again. She dropped her hand quickly, hating herself for being so weak.

"Open your eyes, darling."

It was too much. She couldn't face his exultation, couldn't watch her own subjugation. But she had no choice. As his finger began to pull the collar tight again, she slowly lifted her gaze back to the mirror. He had raised his phone and was poised to take their picture, but all that Arley could think about was the look of defeat in her own eyes.

"There's a good girl. Now look at the camera, love."

She obeyed. Chris bent his head and gently brought his lips to the damp curls at her temple, a bizarre parody of tenderness that contrasted starkly with the cruel finger pressing between the metal and the skin of her neck. A tear slipped from her lashes and rolled down her cheek as he kissed her and she heard the phone's shutter click.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––-

Arley lay on her back on the little cot, staring at the ceiling, the fingers of her left hand running restlessly over the collar. The moment that Chris had left her alone in the now-familiar basement room, she had examined the thing as best as she was able, feeling along every inch of both the inside and the outside of the band with the pads of her fingers. The only hint of anything that might be clasp was a miniscule hole drilled into the outer side of the metal at the back of her neck. It was far to small for her to get even her smallest finger into – she needed some sort of pin. After several minutes of nudging and digging at the opening, she had given up and collapsed upon the mattress, awash with hopelessness.

She was once more wearing the hated blue dress. The bath towel sat folded on the chair, next to a half-eaten bowl of soup. Daniel had brought her the soup along with the freshly-cleaned dress and her underclothes, she couldn't be sure how long ago, perhaps an hour. She had forced down a spoonful of the minestrone every few minutes until it became too repugnant and she had given it up. Maybe, if her appetite never returned, she would simply starve before von Bauer could get too far with her, she thought bleakly.

Just as she was sliding into sleep, she heard footsteps approaching her door. She jolted upwards and hurriedly placed her back against the wall, watching the doorknob rattle and then turn.

Michael entered the room. At the sight of him, Arley experienced a rush of vertigo, as though the ground had opened up beneath her. More than Mark, with his alarming strength, and more than Chris' open hostility, it was Michael that she feared the most out of her captors. Because of the darkness that came into his eyes when she defied him. But also because he had touched her intimately, had caressed her, kissed her, with all the skill of a familiar lover, and she had burned with pleasure beneath his hands and mouth. And now they were alone again, in a little basement room where no one would save her if she screamed.

Michael locked the door behind him.

With one step, he occupied the centre of the room. She shrank back from the intensity of his gaze as he looked down at her. His eyes lingered on the golden collar and she saw the corners of his mouth curl upwards slightly. Arley tried desperately to get control over her fear. She remembered the look of triumph on his face when she had begged him for mercy, and, knowing that he delighted in her submission, she wanted to resist him. But she remembered too him saying he would find a way to punish her.

Smiling his characteristic half-smile, he started to undo his belt. Arley's breath stopped as the leather glided through the belt loops with a sinister hissing noise. Oh God, was he going to beat her? But hadn't he said that von Bauer wanted her unhurt? She tried to remember his exact words on the frozen field, but her mind was frozen, stuck in her present danger and would not let her leave it. What if von Bauer had changed his mind, and had told Michael to punish her? What if Michael had just decided to ignore von Bauer's instructions?

She wrenched her gaze away from where Michael's hand had wrapped around the belt buckle, leaving the leather strap dangling, and looked up into his face. His expression was enthralled as he drank in the sight of her terror. Panic started to blot out the beginnings and endings of Arley's thoughts. How much would it hurt? Could she survive it? Even though she knew escape was impossible, her entire body was coiling like a spring, ready to bolt.

"Mark has a bad habit of leaving you untied, doesn't he?"

Arley jerked at the sound of his deep voice. It took a moment or two for his words to be processed by her strung-out brain. And then her eyes dropped from his as a heady wave of relief rushed through her, some of the dreadful tension washing away. He wasn't going to beat her; he was going to tie her up. She realized that he was still speaking.

"... talk to him about that."

It had, in fact, been Chris who had brought her from the bathroom and left her unbound, but Arley did not see much point in telling Michael this. The only thing that mattered now was how to avoid being tied with that belt.

"Turn around and put your hands together," Michael ordered.

She did not move. She knew she was digging her own grave, but she found that she was either unwilling or unable to submit.

"I will give you one more chance to obey me, Nadia."

The condescension in his tone, his certainty that she would yield to him, awoke within Arley a deeply rooted vein of stubbornness. Feeling her cheeks flush with anger, she looked up straight into his dark eyes and held on to his gaze, telling him with her eyes exactly what she thought of him and his orders.

His body was as calm and purposeful as ever in its movements as he came towards her. She kicked at him savagely, but he dodged, and in an instant, he was over her. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and flipped her on to her stomach. One large hand wrapped around the back of her neck, making the collar dig into her skin, and pushed her into the mattress. Arley thrashed wildly beneath him, her screams muffled in the sheets, as she felt him straddle her thighs, his weight pinning her to the bed.

Easily, so easily, he caught hold of her wrists, pulling them out from underneath her, where she had braced them against her chest in what she had thought would be a more difficult position for him to break. He brought her forearms together against the small of her back, hands to elbows. Then the leather of the belt was against her skin, wrapping around her wrists.

"No!" she screamed hoarsely, pulling against him with all her might.

He chuckled. She felt a hard tug as he tightened the belt and fastened it.

"If we only had the time, I would break you of this little obedience problem myself," he said conversationally. "It's too bad that von Bauer gets you in the morning. We would have had so much fun."

He landed a firm slap on one buttock, and Arley shrieked in surprise before she could stop herself. Then fury swelled inside her chest, inflating so quickly that she had difficulty breathing around it. How dare he give her orders? How dare he expect her to obey him, as if he were her superior? She struggled harder, trying to wriggle out from under his weight. Her bottom, with it's scant covering, was wedged roundly between her bound forearms and his hips. With a thrill of horror, she realized that she could feel a threatening hardness pressing against her ass. Awareness of what that bulge was and what it foretold made her fight still harder to escape.

Michael's weight shifted above her. He bent low over her back and brought his face next to hers, one hand clamped over the nape of her neck to keep her head down as his lips came to her ear. The hard length of his erection ground into the mounded flesh of Arley's ass as he murmured in her ear.

"I'm bigger than you, Nadia. I'm faster than you, and I'm much, much stronger. You can fight me if you want to. You won't get anywhere ... but I like it when you squirm."

Arley quivered underneath him as a tingle of heat rushed across her skin and her breath was suddenly insufficient. The length of his hard body pressing against her, the soft brush of his lips at the sensitive folds of her ear, the heat and weight of his hand pinning her to the mattress – it all ignited within her a fierce desire that unnerved her. Never before had someone so blatantly expressed their mastery over her, in word and deed. Never had she felt so helpless. And yet the liquid heat pooling in her belly was undeniably that of arousal. She didn't bother trying to understand how she could be both afraid and aroused at the same time. Instead, she ignored all of it and tried what she had tried before, to disconnect her mind from her circumstances.

Without warning, Michael flipped her over again and she found her face inches away from his so that all she could see was his black eyes. Before she could think or react, his mouth descended over hers.

He was less brutal than before. The kiss did not bruise this time, but it was still forceful, demanding her compliance. His lips moved insistently over hers, teasing, pressing. Arley kept her lips closed as best she could, trying to think about anything else as his mouth enveloped hers hotly. His one hand tangled itself in the curls at the back of her head, holding her in place, while his other roamed across the folds of the blue dress lightly, almost innocently. Her shoulders ached from the way that her arms were twisted behind her back, and she tried to shift into a less painful position, unintentionally lifting her body up to him as she did so.

Suddenly his hand, large and warm, cupped her between her thighs, pressing firmly against the entirety of her sex. Arley yelped and Michael took advantage of her parted lips, his tongue delving into her mouth to claim it. Her knees snapped together protectively the second she felt his touch, but it was too late. The motion only squeezed his hand tighter against her.

His tongue swept across hers aggressively, and between her legs, his hand started to rock gently, his fingers rippling lightly against her lower lips, her skin and his separated by only the silk and lace of her panties. He continued with the back and forth motion, half-rubbing, half-squeezing her in a way that pressed her supple folds up and down over her clit. To her horror, Arley felt the ache of desire radiating through her thighs and belly in response to his dancing fingers, to the hot weight of his hand clasping that softest part of her.

He stroked her more firmly now, his fingers pressing against the silk into the dampened slit between her swollen lips and his palm grinding against the soft mound above. A searing need thrummed through Arley's veins. Oh God, but it felt good. Fuck him, for making her feel so good. She found that her mouth was moving urgently against his, thirsty for more. Nearly every thought was driven from her mind except the tipping point that he was bringing her to. Without meaning to, she shifted her hips to angle herself further into his hand.

Michael drew back and made a mock scolding noise. "I think you're enjoying this too much, little toy," he said, his voice full of malicious humour. "This is supposed to be your punishment."

Immediately he was on his feet at the edge of the mattress. Bending down, he dragged her towards him, and before Arley quite knew what was happening, she found herself on her knees, her back against the bed, and Michael's thighs in front of her face. She leaned back, her bound hands pressing into the mattress edge, trying to put space between their bodies.

"You owe me, Nadia, for trying to escape." Michael's voice was rough with lust. She felt his hand grasp a fistful of curls at the top of her head and saw his other hand undoing the button on his jeans. Panicking, she tried to pull free, but the hand in her hair tightened painfully and locked her in place.

"Sucking cock seems to me the perfect discipline for a toy like you. You can consider it practice for your new life."

His jeans were pooled around his ankles now, and she saw him reach for the waistband of his boxers.

"NO!" she screamed wildly, bucking with all her might beneath his hand, heedless of the pain when several hairs were torn from her scalp. The arousal that had made her melt against him only moments ago evaporated, and in its place there rose sudden, sickening dread.

He paused in his undressing. For a moment the girl experienced a flash of irrational hope. Slowly, Michael sank to one knee in front of her and she was able to look into his face. The dark hunger in his eyes as he looked down at her put an end to any expectation of kindness or pity.

"I thought you might give me trouble over this," he said silkily. "Obedience is not, after all, your best trait, is it? So I picked up a little tool to help you learn." He flashed her a wicked smile. "A toy for the toy, if you will."

Tears of rage and frustration sprang to Arley's eyes and blurred her vision. Blinking them away furiously, she saw Michael pulling from the pocket of his jeans a small black strap, with a buckle on the end and a metal ring halfway down the band. She didn't need an explanation.

"No, you can't!" she breathed. "Please Michael. Don't, please! Please, I'm sorry for running, I- I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please don't do this." She was twisting and squirming again, trying to pull free.

The hand with the awful device in it cupped her cheek gently. She felt the cold metal against her skin as she gazed up breathlessly into Michael's eyes, beseeching him for mercy.

"Better," he said, his tone calm. "But you still need this lesson."

Then the hand in her hair was gone and he held the strap by either end and forced the metal ring into her mouth. Arley cried out, a strangled, anguished sob that she could not muffle with her lips stretched tight around the cruel metal circle. Michael deftly fastened the strap at the back of her head, and then stood once more, towering over her.

She hunched, tried to duck her head away. But he grabbed her by the hair once more and pulled her face around to his hips. As if in a nightmare, she watched him pull his straining erection free, and, before she could do more than whimper at the sight of it, huge and angry-looking, he had guided it to her mouth and slid it inside.