"Do you think I wasn't prepared for something like that? I've never known your parties to be all fun and games."
The scowl returns, twisting his features up into something far uglier than it should be- as if I'm catching a glimpse of a monster underneath.
"Let your," he pauses, his tongue sliding out like a slug to wet his lip. "Submissive hang out with the others. I'm sure she'll enjoy it immensely." Without waiting for a response, he turns around and heads off into the crowd of people.
Shuddering, I clutch at Master Grigori's arm, clinging to his strength. I don't want him to leave me alone right now. This man is setting off every alarm in my system, and I don't like it. I don't like feeling this helpless or afraid.
"Trust me."
That's all he says as he pats my hand and leads me into the throng. Can I trust him, though? I force the tension to leave my body, gliding next to him as if I haven't a care in the world. Instead of concentrating on my fear and worry, I turn my attention to the slickness between my thighs. By this point, it's not all him anymore - it can't be. People flock towards us from every direction, crowding around us. The close proximity forces me to tighten everything up so as to not bump into people. The friction that puts between my thighs is the most delicious form of torture.
Master Grigori is either a monster or a genius - both if I'm being generous. When he pierced me, I never realized the repercussions, but now, I cannot even walk, let alone dodge people, without the constant reminder of the metal sitting pretty on my clit. It's the most agonizing pleasure I’ve known. If I knew it would affect me like this, I would have pierced myself months ago. I'm sure given enough time, I could have learned how to rub my thighs together in a way that would get me off without technically breaking the rules. I wasn't touching myself without permission, so no one could punish me for it. Hindsight is aggravatingly twenty-twenty. All those wasted orgasms. It's enough to make me sick.
Most of the people that stop to speak with Master Grigori as they pass by cast curious glances my way, pointedly not engaging me in conversation. It's so odd to be the center of attention, but also not. At the university, I was never in a situation where people couldn't talk to me, but this made me so much more aware of my station, more aware of how in charge he is compared to me. It makes me feel small but somehow not insignificant. What they discuss goes through one ear and out the other. None of it makes much sense to me anyway. If it's not in Russian, then it's in code. Whatever it is they're saying, Master Grigori doesn't seem to like it. His lips pull down into a frown more often than not, but he still manages to keep me from going off the deep end with my thoughts with small strokes to my hand, light taps, or a slight tug to pull me in closer.
Sighing, I rest my head on his shoulder, letting the world drift around me while wrapped up in my submissive cocoon. Is this what I've been fighting all this time? It's probably more accurate that I just hadn't found my dominant yet. I thought I had, but time and again, I'm proven wrong. Was I really so terrified of this man in the beginning? Yes. And it would probably do well to keep some level of fear, no matter how much he's lulled me into trusting him with his kind touches. He's still the monster that pierced me without a thought, gave me to his henchman without so much as a twitch, and is probably, most definitely, in the mafia. Being with him, no matter how safe I feel now, is courting danger. At some point, this bubble is going to burst, and I'll be the one to pay the price. Deep down, I just know it.
"Is something wrong, Printsessa?"
His warm, sultry voice snaps me back to reality. I can't let him know the traitorous thoughts rioting in my brain. Knowing him, he'd take me to the nearest flat surface and take me, right in front of all these people, just to show me he can - to show me who's boss. Though it fills me with a tremor of fear, it also sends tingles down to my clit, and that's the last place that needs to be begging for attention. Not in front of all these strangers.
The look on his face is odd as he stares me down, and I realize I still haven't answered him. "No, Master. I'm just a little overwhelmed." It's the truth, not the whole truth, but some measure of it. It's enough for him to seem satisfied.
Nodding, he pulls me in closer, his lips nipping at the shell of my ear. With me distracted, he wraps his other arm around me, embracing me in front of all these strangers. Is it just for show, or does he really want me? From this angle, I can't even tell if he's hard or not, not that it matters with him. He seems to constantly want me with a violent passion, feelings or not. His being hard would only signify that he wanted my body and nothing more. He pulls away, tossing me a dashing smile before leading us away from the main crowd and towards a hallway to the side.
He must be taking me to the other submissives so I can be out of his hair for the big meeting. Again, the butterflies flit about my stomach, sending waves of nausea up my throat until I almost choke on the acrid bile. If it's anywhere near his uncle, then that's the last place I want to be. I don't want to cause him any trouble, but I don't want to be alone with the man. I trust him even less than I do Ivan, and after his display a few weeks ago, I don't trust him at all.
Oh, what I would give to have Sasha with me right now. Maybe if I beg and plead, Master Grigori will let me take her to events like this as an emotional support dog. On the outside, everyone would think I just need some sort of help, but what they wouldn't know is she would be my shield against them. Let them try to even come near me with her as my protector. Just imagining her nipping at all these people if they got too close sends a smile to my lips.
"That's better, Lastachka. I want you to be happy here tonight. It pains me so to see you frown."
"Oh, right," I fire back, momentarily forgetting how I'm supposed to be acting. "As if you care that I'm frowning when you're using your whip on me."
He chuckles, pulling me in for a quick kiss. His teeth come down in a warning nip on my lower lip, sending a zap of pain through me. It's things like this that remind me that no matter how sweet he is in public, he can still hurt me if I displease him.
"There's a difference between hurting you for my pleasure and you just being unhappy. I have no problem lashing you then fucking you until you're hoarse, but in other instances, I do like seeing you happy, whether or not you believe me."
My heart warms at his words. It's not a declaration of love, by any means, but it's more affection than I gave him credit for. Nodding, I face the hallway head-on. If he thinks it's safe enough for me, then I'll have to force myself to trust him. Besides, he probably made me take those self-defense classes for this very reason. What would Aleksandr say if he saw me cowering like this before an unknown threat?
Straightening my shoulders, I hold my head high as we enter a room with a large table in the middle. Men file in around us and start sitting at the table, ignoring me as they push past. I'm confused as I watch them; it's like they're all here for some purpose that doesn't include me. Does that mean this isn't where the submissives are congregating? There are a few women, some kneeling and some standing, but they are in the vast minority.
"She's not part of the family. Don't bring her into this meeting."
That familiar voice sounds behind me, dousing me in ice. I keep my back straight, refusing to look at him. With Master Grigori by my side, I don't have to be afraid, and if he leaves me, I'll just punch the guy like I've been taught. Satisfied with my decision, I sink into my rock and let him deal with the blowhard. I'm not supposed to talk to him anyway.
"She goes where I go. Don't like it, then you can tell the other members why I'm absent from such an important decision."
They both exchange a flurry of Russian, the toad forgetting that I'm even there for the moment. I use that reprieve to study the men sitting there, most broad and muscular like Master Grigori, but many covered in various tattoos. They give off a dangerous air that's both frightening and intoxicating. Once their spat is done, the uncle walks over to the head, spearing me with a dirty look before he settles in. Strong fingers engulf my chin as Master Grigori forces my gaze to his.
"What type of music do you like?"
That was not the question I was expecting. For some reason, this question seems personal and intimate. We have yet to get to that part of our relationship: it was always sex or training, not much time for getting to know each other. I pause, not trying to drag it out but to really think about it. I have very eclectic tastes that run a broad gamut. I'd hate to say one thing only to end up listening to it nonstop for so long it gets annoying.
"I'm the type that puts my music on shuffle then keeps skipping until I find something I like. It usually never pops up."
I'm not sure what answer he was expecting, but that clearly wasn't it. He throws his head back and laughs harder than I ever heard him before. Based on the looks we're both getting, I'm sure they haven't heard it either. It twists at my insides, demanding I join in, but I'm not sure if that's allowed. We're already garnering too much attention.
"You never fail to amuse me, Lastachka. Perhaps I should find something and hope for the best?"
Before I can stop it, my face screws up in distaste. Most everyone that's made me listen to their music regretted it. I wasn't trying to be hard to please, but I know what I like and what I don't. Most music doesn't make the cut.
"I'll take that as a no? Decide fast, or I'll find the most annoying song and put it on repeat."
"I like instrumental, and I like beats. That's something that will never get too annoying. At least it shouldn't."
Grunting, he pulls out a pair of black earbuds and starts shoving them into my ears. It takes all my willpower to submit to what he's doing instead of clawing him away. I'm keenly aware of everyone staring at us, but I have no idea why. What's the purpose of the headphones? The second one slides in, and Master Grigori makes a big show of pulling out his phone and hitting a button. Instantly, white noise fills my ears, drowning out everything.
I try desperately to keep a straight face, to not show my fear, but I can't. Terror floods my body as he stands in front of me, lips moving, but no sounds coming out. Based on his face and the wincing of the others nearby, I think he's screaming at me, but still nothing. Nodding his head, he looks out towards the other men and motion towards me. They all nod and go back to whatever is happening at the table.
Giving me a smirk, he turns back to his phone and fiddles with it some more before music starts to pour in over the static. It's still there in the background, but it's not nearly as terrifying. With his hands encircling mine, he pulls me over towards a chair and points at the floor. As I approach the place he wants me to sit, he motions with his palm, facing it up towards the ceiling. Nodding once to let him know I understand, I make my way next to the large chair, sinking down to my knees and leaning as far back as the dress will let me. Now that I'm in position, I slide my hands across my thighs and flip them. His smile is warm as he reaches down to stroke my hair before getting into his seat.
With the headphones in, I can't hear a word that's being said, but the body language is animated. Some men, Master Grigori, included, sit still, their faces a mask of calm, but most are slamming their fists to the table, their faces red. Every now and then, pretty girls walk in with trays of drinks, probably vodka from the lack of color. They take their shots, throwing them back, then slamming it down.
I have no clue why Master Grigori insisted on the headphones. From the little I heard and saw, everyone here can speak Russian. My limited knowledge would get me nowhere. It's probably for the best, though. The headphones do give me plausible deniability if something ever does come about. I can't say they ordered a hit if I didn't hear about it.
The music floods my ears on a steady loop, and I can't tell if a song is starting or ending. The hypnotic pull of the violin with the rock beats behind lull me into an easy sway as my head nods along with the rhythm. If I can remember, I need to ask him to play this the next time we're down in his dungeon. The very idea of his whip hitting me in time with this beat has me squirming about.