Identities Ch. 05

The smell of him was in her nose and the taste of him filled her mouth, and she could not block it out or back away. She could only drown in the flavour of him. Involuntary cries of protest came from the back of her throat and were muffled by the thick rod of flesh now thrusting in and out of her mouth. All she could see was his body above and below and all around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to escape the sight. This isn't happening, she thought as tears ran down her cheeks and she started to sob.

Above her, she heard Michael groan with pleasure, the sound cutting through her. He grasped her head in both his hands and settled into a steady rhythm, pushing in just far enough that she thought she would gag before pulling out again, but never letting the head of his cock pull out past the metal circle.

"What do they call this in German, Nadia?" he panted, and she could hear the grin in his voice. "What's the word? I'm sure you know it? You must have heard it often."

How she hated him. She wished more than anything that she could tear free from his grip, spring to her feet, and bash his head in with her own fists. But his strength was so much greater than hers, it made her every attempt at resistance utterly futile. All she could do was kneel before him, bound and gagged, and try her best to close her mind to his words as she was forced to take his cock.

In and out, in and out. The velvety length of him rubbed along her tongue and she tried to remember what the ocean looked like on a summer's day. Go somewhere else, be somewhere else.

"Look at me."

No.

"Nadia. Look at me," he snarled. He thrust into her mouth, hard, and she spluttered around his length as the head of his cock hit the back of her throat.

Eyes streaming, she slowly raised her gaze up the length of his body, finally reaching his face. He stilled his movements and let himself rest in her mouth as he looked down at her with glowing eyes. She saw that his lips were parted and he was breathing hard with the intensity of his lust.

"Yes," he breathed, drinking in the sight of her on her knees with his cock between her lips. But then his mouth closed and his eyes hardened. His stare fell upon her like a physical blow.

"This is for running away, Nadia."

And then he was fucking her face without mercy. His hands tightened in her hair, preventing her from moving her head even an inch as his cock rammed into the back of her throat over and over. Arley couldn't even cry out in pain, she wasn't able to get the breath for it around his invading flesh. Her jaw clamped around the ring gag, fruitlessly trying to bite, to shut out the painful intrusion. She was panicking, her body writhing against his hold, unable to get the oxygen she needed.

"This is for disobeying me," he said savagely.

How long would he go on for? Thick strings of saliva swung from where his cock was pumping in and out of the metal ring holding her mouth open, and a horrible gurgling noise came from her throat. Again and again he slammed himself into her throat, which gave way beneath the brute force of his thrusts, making her gag and feel as though she was going to throw up. Arley realized she must be managing to take in small amounts of air around him, because she hadn't passed out yet. This realization brought her hysteria down a notch and she tried to focus on breathing where she could, enduring the onslaught.

Then his cock twitched and seemed to double in size inside her mouth. He grunted and pushed himself still further inside her, until his entire length was enveloped in her mouth. His balls squeezed hotly against her chin, and the head of his cock was wedged several inches down her throat, blocking her air completely. The collar dug against her skin as her throat bulged around him and worsened her suffocation. Arley convulsed desperately in his hold as she felt the hot surge of his satisfaction splash deep in her throat, while above her head his guttural moans of pleasure filled the room. On and on it went. She choked and flailed, but was forced to take all his cum inside of her, straight down to her belly.

Finally, he pulled his softening member from out of her mouth and released her head. Arley fell forward, gasping and retching around the gag, her chest heaving, drool spiralling down from her chin. She felt lightheaded and weak, and each strangled breath made her battered throat ache. No clear thoughts could find purchase in her stunned mind; she was conscious only of the need to escape, to find an end to her suffering. Twisting her knees sideways, she slumped against the mattress and bowed her head, trying instinctively to curl up despite her arms being bound at her back.

Somewhere above her, she heard Michael dressing himself again. Ignore it, ignore it, she told herself as her body started to tremble. Not now. You can think about it later. Not now.

She flinched away when his fingers brushed her head again, but he was only reaching for the latch on the gag. She felt him undo it and pull it from her mouth. She let out a little sob of relief as the wretched thing left her and she could once more move her jaw. Her tongue swept the inside of her mouth, trying to clean away the lingering taste of him.

Michael's hands were now at the belt that wrapped around her wrists. In a few seconds it was undone. Still shaking, Arley felt pain stab through her shoulders as she gingerly wrapped her arms around herself. She curled up tighter, turned her face into the side of the mattress, and prayed that Michael would leave without inflicting further torment upon her.

No such luck.

She felt, rather than saw, him crouch down next to her. Her body shook harder.

"You're not going to run away again, are you, little one?" His deep voice sounded satisfied.

Please just go away. Go away, go away, go–

"Answer me, Nadia," he commanded, suddenly harsh.

"No," she said into the mattress, her voice little more than a whisper. Even that made her throat smart and sting.

"Good girl."

He stroked the top of her head, making her burn with humiliation. Then he stood once more and she heard him cross to the door.

She did not move after he had left, but remained hunched on the floor against the bed, trying not to be sick.

For a long time, Arley focused on nothing but her breathing. On the fringes of her mind, nightmarish thoughts were swirling, seeking entrance to her consciousness. She saw flashes of them, but held them at bay, not sure yet that she wouldn't shatter if she allowed them in. It was easier to ignore everything and just breathe.

But the dark thoughts would not relent. Before her mind's eye, she suddenly saw again Michael's face, high above her, transformed with violent jubilation as he watched his cock sliding into her mouth. Her chest constricted and for a moment she stopped breathing as the panic returned. No! Not now! Breathe! In-one-two-three-four, out-one-two-three four...

Every time Arley nearly had herself under control, another memory broke through, threatening to pitch her into hysteria. The swing of the belt hanging from Michael's fist, his body pinning hers to the bed, the sight of his livid cock leaping from his underwear and aiming for her face. And the taste of it, she could not rid her mouth of the taste. Each time that she tried to push away the dreadful images, they came swinging back again, as though reeled in by the lingering taste of his flesh.

Arley was teetering on the edge of delirium when she remembered the half-finished minestrone. She unfolded herself jerkily and stumbled towards the chair where the bowl still sat. Flopping onto the bed, she started shovelling the food into her mouth, trying to get rid of Michael's taste.

It was as she was struggling to push the soggy vegetables down her bruised throat that the tears came. Quietly at first, they spilled down her cheeks and into the last of her soup. But instead of cleansing her sorrow, they seemed only to strengthen it. Her pain and grief grew and grew until her whole chest seized with misery, the bowl clattering to the floor as she lost control of her hands.

It was anguish of a sort that Arley had never known. It was not only that Michael had hurt her, not only that he had spoken vile things to her. He had overridden her very personhood.

And the truth of her identity was no longer a solace. Her nationality and her past, relevant to von Bauer's desire to have her, did not matter in the face of Michael's exploitation. He had kidnapped her because of her identity. But he had violated her for no reason except that she was a woman. It was a sin of a more fundamental kind, that he had used his greater strength to take from her what she was unwilling to give.

Time stretched and wavered on in a haze of agony during which Arley was hardly aware of her body or her surroundings. She came to briefly at one point to find herself huddled on the mattress. Still crying, she weakly pulled the blanket over herself, and then fell again into semi-consciousness.

Perhaps if she had been able to process the trauma of the attack, she may have been able to recapture her resolve. But the pain coursing through her was so great, it prevented her from think rationally – she could not think, she could only feel. And before she could exorcise her suffering by way of tears, the exhaustion that hung over her began to make its claim. Her miserable thoughts merged into miserable dreams without her noticing, leaving her injury untreated. And so in the last hours before Arley was given over to her buyer, she drifted in and out of troubled sleep, broken in spirit and entirely unprepared for the morning's danger.

***************************************

Mark paused just outside the door to the basement room, apprehensive about what he would find inside. The time for deliberation was long past, however, and after a moment or two, he knew he had no choice other than to proceed. And he wanted it to be him rather than one of the others.

Their prisoner did not stir as he unlocked the door and entered the room. She lay curled beneath the thin blanket on the cot, her face tucked out of sight behind her hands. Mark looked at her for a minute, watching the slight rise and fall of her shoulders. He was filled with a sudden, fierce longing to take away all of her hurting, to shelter and protect her. To see again the gentle peace of an autumn afternoon glowing in her eyes.

Instead, he crouched down and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. Her lashes fluttered. With a little intake of breath, she opened confused eyes. Mark watched the fog of sleep melt away and couldn't help wondering if he would ever see her again.

Nadia's eyes found his face. For one fleeting second, he saw her naked fear and pain, and then her eyes darted away and she drew back from him. The blanket slid from her shoulders as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Mark's eyes were instantly drawn to the golden collar, gleaming in the dim light. It's clean, hard lines contrasted with the soft jumble of curls nestling against it; it looked incongruous, out of place. He felt again the revulsion that had filled him when Chris had first showed him the thing. Seeing it on her was worse than seeing it in Chris' hands. It made her look like a slave. But then, he realized with a jolt, she was a slave now. He had helped make her one.

Less resolute than ever, he spoke, and was surprised to hear his voice come out firm.

"It's time."

Her eyes flitted up to his in a flash of pure terror, then skittered away again. She began to tremble and he saw her breathing pick up, but she did not move to leave the bed.

He bent down, ignoring the way she flinched back from him, and ignoring the tightness that entered his chest when she did so. Taking her by both arms, he pulled her forward and up off the cot. Her skin felt cold to the touch.

Keeping one hand pressed lightly to her back, Mark drew his captive out of the room. She walked silently across the basement at his side, her gaze lowered. She drifted to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Mark kept his hand upon her back but did not push her forward, deciding instead to allow her a moment's hesitation. The crumpled blue dress rippled around her slightly as she drew a shaky breath, then she lifted her head and began to climb the stairs.

They emerged the hall above to find Daniel, Chris, and Michael waiting for them. Mark took Nadia's arm, the gesture as protective as it was controlling. All three of the men were watching Nadia intently, but she kept her eyes on the floor at her feet. Mark could feel her still trembling.

Looking down at her as well, Mark became aware that something had changed. From the beginning, she had been afraid of her captors, but he had seen a current of resilience running beneath her fear. He had seen it in the tilt of her chin, in the steady strength of her gaze. And, of course, in her occasional bursts of resistance. She had possessed some foundation, some sort of certainty. Now, however, that foundation seemed to have crumbled. She was skittish, jumping at every noise and movement. And the clear blue eyes no longer fixed upon his; instead they remained hidden behind a sweep of dark lashes.

Was this new decentering the result of her failed escape attempt? Or was there more to it? Perhaps it was the collar, he thought, with another stab of resentment. He should never have let Chris put it on her.

Michael stepped forward with her flats in his hand. Nadia shied away from his approach. She actually tried to move closer to Mark, edging as far behind him as his hand around her arm would allow.

Michael dropped the shoes on the floor at Nadia's feet. Looking down at the girl, he wore an expression that Mark didn't recognize. There was a smugness to it, the same kind of satisfaction that Mark had seen upon the faces of politicians giving acceptance speeches on election day. But there was too a tracing of hunger upon the other man's handsome features. Mark realized suddenly that it was the very same expression Michael had worn when Mark had found him molesting Nadia the day before.

"Are you going to behave for us this morning?" Michael said to the top of Nadia's head. Mark saw her nod her head faintly, her face still lowered.

Michael shot Mark a calculating look.

"Maybe I should take her."

Mark felt Nadia's entire body turn rigid against his side.

"I've got it," he said. His tone was unyielding. Michael didn't push the matter, but only nodded and turned.

"Come on, then. They'll be here any second."

Mark waited for Nadia to slip the little black shoes onto her feet and then led her to the front door. Michael walked in front of them, Daniel and Chris came behind.

The December wind coming off the ocean scoured their limbs as they stepped out onto the porch. A light skiff of snow whitened the grass in front of the house, and the brooding, piled clouds scudding across the horizon threatened to send down more. Mark, in his sweater and jeans, was instantly uncomfortable, and knew that it was worse for Nadia, wearing only a semi-sheer slip of a dress. Her trembling turned into shaking as the frosty gusts made her skirt billow and swirl around her hips.

Within seconds, a vehicle appeared, rounding the grove of scrub pine that sheltered the house from the road, and trundling up the bend of the driveway towards them. Mark was a bit surprised to see that it was a white, windowless work van, exactly the kind that villains in movies always used. For whatever reason, he had expected something more elaborate from von Bauer.

The four men and their prisoner descended the porch steps and came to the edge of the drive, where the van was rumbling to a halt some ten or fifteen metres away. Nadia began to pull against Mark's hold, trying to back away from the men now emerging from the van, but Mark brought her forward, placing her back against his chest, and held her fast.

The newcomers came to a halt a few feet away. There were three of them. To Mark's left stood a man whose appearance was in every way unremarkable. With plain brown hair and a closely shaven beard of the same colour, he was the sort of man who could walk right past his acquaintances on the street without them recognizing him. His eyes moved over the scene indifferently, as though everything he saw was nothing more than a routine business transaction.

On the right was the tallest of the three, a big, thickset man with brown hair that swept down to his jaw, framing a pair of surprisingly beautiful green eyes. He watched Nadia closely, taking in her every movement with a careful gaze. His posture was relaxed but alert, ready to take action.

The man in the middle seemed to be their leader, he stood slightly to the forefront of the other two. He was of that indeterminate age that spans the passing of youth and the beginning of infirmity. Average in height, he wasn't any taller than Nadia, but built like a linebacker, with a barrelled torso and gigantic arms that rippled with muscle. Indeed, he was so broad in girth that it might have bordered on comical, were it not for his face, which dissuaded any mockery of his appearance. The jagged purple line of a scar twisted across his left cheek. Light-coloured hair was cropped close to his head, and pale, cold eyes swept over the group of people before him. Mark felt Nadia press back into his chest as the man's eyes moved on to her.

His gaze roved over her slowly, lingering here and there as he took in her appearance. Mark knew what it was that he saw. The bruises and the cuts, the shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin. The collar. The man frowned.

"What have you done to her?"

"Only what was necessary," Michael said smoothly. "She has ... obedience issues."

"She is not yours to train or punish. Von Bauer was very clear in his instructions. You were not to harm her." His voice carried hard and clear over the rushing of the winter wind.

"Well then, I hope you have better luck subduing her than we did."

The pale-eyed man gave Michael a contemptuous look through half-lidded eyes. Then he gestured to his nondescript companion, who stepped forward, holding up a glossy black phone in his hand.

"40 million, as promised. To the account that was specified. How you split it amongst yourselves is your problem, but all four of you will have access for the next four hours, and four hours only. After that, the account closes."

Mark watched as Michael and Chris stepped forward to look at the phone's lit screen. A small part of him was eager as he had been eager before, wanting that money. But with Nadia's shaking back pressing into his chest, most of him found it hard to focus on anything except how frail her body felt.

Michael backed away from the exchange, his face triumphant, and a moment later, Chris followed. Von Bauer's money man put away the phone. Their leader, who had been watching this transaction lazily, now turned to the tall man on his other side.

"Alright, let's go."

He and the plain man turned back towards their van at the same time that the third man stepped forward towards Nadia and Mark. In the few seconds that it took for him to reach her, the girl began to struggle. She tried to twist out of Mark's grip, her arms straining against his hands and her feet dancing over the frozen ground as she attempted to find purchase.

"No," she whimpered, her voice raspy and pained. "No, please!"

Her head twisted around and for one gut-wrenching moment, Mark looked into her stricken face. Then the tall man had reached them.

There was nothing he could do. Six other men stood at hand who wanted her in the back of that van. Hating himself, filled with disgust for what he was doing, Mark pushed her forward as gently as he could, into the hands of the man come to take her. The newcomer was just as tall as Mark, perhaps even a touch taller, which put his chin level with the top of Nadia's head. He took her by the arm, and then, seeing her dig her heels into the grass and brace herself for a fight, he seemed to change his mind. He spun her about, wrapped his arms around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, and lifted her bodily from the ground. Mark watched her feet kicking as she was carried to the back of the van, much as he himself had carried her to the trunk of their car three nights earlier. He could not tear his eyes away from her.