In the gym, it's largely a "small muscles session". Triceps press-ups, forward single arm raise, preacher curls, triceps overhead pull from supine, declined sit-ups, lateral shoulders raise, dumbbell biceps curl, sit-ups with medicine ball, and lastly triceps dips.
At the end of the ninety minutes training I am feeling fantastic and grateful that life has given me the opportunity to experience this. I am also very horny. Andrei takes me by the hand and smiles. It's time for his fuck. He strips. I remove my shoes and socks. We go into the massage room. He has a key to my belt. He unlocks it. It falls away and ...... OH! OH! OH!
I look down. Three chunky ball closure rings join the lips of my labia. The rings run through matching shiny metal grommets. Never mind the chastity belt, these rings shut out any possibility of penetration. There is a banana bell peeping out from above which must pierce my clit hood.
My mouth drops open in surprise. I look up at Andrei. He's as surprised as I am. "I'm sorry Gaspadeen. It was Neena and Alana yesterday. They kept me in a hood. I couldn't see...."
My words dry up. Andreii is reading a small plastic key tag which hangs from the top labia ring. It says in neat Cyrillic printing:
закрыта на реонт
ой, как жаль!
Andrei reads it out aloud. "Zakrita na rimont. Oy, kak zhal!" In other words, "Closed for repairs. Oh, what a pity!"
He laughs and I giggle and he laughs again and slaps my bum. Who is the target of this joke? Him, or me, or both of us?
Andrei beckons me to kneel in front of him. His penis is already rising to attention. He looks down at me and nods. It's clear what I am to do. I open my mouth and slip the head of his penis inside. It swells rapidly, exposed to the warm slippery softness on my lips and cheeks and tongue. I rock back and forth, squeezing the head, pursing my lips as they bump back and forth over the corona. I stiffen my tongue and tease the underside of Andrei's penis head with my tongue stud -- so useful for cunnilingus and now for fellatio. The minutes pass. I rock, squeeze, swirl and suck with my tongue and tickle and scratch and gently pull at his balls with my fingers.
Andrei begins to stiffen. He holds my head against him. I can feel his balls begin to tense. I pull them down. They stretch more. He quivers and erupts in my mouth. He comes and comes and comes, filling my mouth with warm slippery, musty, yeasty semen.
Obediently, as expected from a slave, I swallow, carefully sucking the last ropes from his meatus, wriggling the tip of my tongue into the little tunnel. Blokes can get tender after ejaculation and to test him I rub the edges of my teeth across his corona. Rewardingly he bucks and squeals. Yes, it's true. Sexual torture of a willing victim can be fun for both parties!
He begins to soften and then straightens up. He taps my head and I glance up at him, his shaft still deep in my mouth. He holds up one finger and says, "Remember to swallow."
Just for a moment, I am puzzled as to what he means because I have swallowed until a second later I feel his stiffen momentarily and warm salty pee begins to fill my mouth. He holds the back of my head, his hand on my bare scalp.
He pees and pees. I cannot avoid it. I have to swallow and keep swallowing until he has completely drained. I have not sucked much cock and actually none since I have been here. This must be the next training experience.
So the joke was mainly on me, then .......?
.....................................................................................................................
Footnotes:
1 The Home Counties. Colloquial expression in the UK to describe the counties which border the London area. Impossible to accurately define geographically but all Brits know where it is.
2A http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl_Koller_(ophthalmologist). Karl Koller was a pioneer ophthalmic surgeon who introduced cocaine in distilled water as an anaesthetic in eye surgery. He was a colleague of the psychologist Sigmund Freud who (they say) referred to him teasingly as 'Coca Koller', after another surprisingly old American institution. The formulation Neena uses is highly effective but not often used in practice nowadays.
2B http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bupivacaine is the long acting local aneasthetic Neena uses next.
3 Vyera is not if full possession of the facts. Nude running is very popular, especially, it seems, in the United States! http://nuderuns.com/ CHAPTER 22 : MOTHERCARE THE STORK LANDS
Anatoly and Sveta are asleep in one another's arms. Sveta is dreaming of Alana as a little girl and a family holiday to the Crimea. Alana is playing with a little bell. Sveta realises in a moment of rational thought that she is asleep and wants to stay that way. "If only Alana would stop ringing the bell", she thinks as she drifts deeper into sleep once more ... With a start Sveta realises the noise is the bedside telephone. The 'phone is on Sveta's side of the bed. She picks it up.
"What? It's Sveta? Who is this?" She's awake quickly, a legacy of her military career.
"Mamma?"
"Alana?"
"Mamma, I think the baby is coming. Vitaly is taking me to the clinic. We have called Dr Maevitch."
Although she has been waiting for this moment almost as keenly as Alana, the sudden onset of labour still has come as a surprise. "Oh ... ah ... we will come ...wait for us ... no, I mean go right away. We will come up now. Is that alright?"
"Mamma," Alanna's tone is almost scolding. "Leave it to me and Vitaly We will be fine. There is no need for you to race up here just yet. Let me get to the clinic and Vitaly will let you know what is going on. Alright?"
"Yes, alright. I ... we ... we must keep in touch."
"Mamma: it will be alright. I am telling you."
By now, Anatoly is also awake. His little girl is going to have her own baby! He remembers Alana as she was. As a little girl. The funny things she did and the funny things she said. Why did they not write them down more carefully? And now, his little girl will soon be a mother and have her very own tiny baby ...
He turns over and places a hand gently on his wife's shoulder. This will be a difficult day for her. A confusion of hope, joy, anxiety and regret for the children she did not have and especially for the child she could have had.
He says: "I'm going to make tea. Would you like some?"
"Yes, let me come with you."
Hand in hand, Sveta and Anatoly leave the safety of their room and pad down into the kitchen. AN UNEXPECTED PARTY
I am alone in my cell when in the middle of the night the door is thrown open. I had a second or so of warning as the lights came on and locks clicked open. In the door way stands the naked form of Sveta Kustenskaya. She walks straight in and sits on my bed. "Vyerochka," she says, "Alana has telephoned. Her baby is on the way. Anatoly and I are having tea in the kitchen. Please come and join us. It does not seem right for us to be alone."
I obediently follow her, trying to squeeze the last vestiges of sleep from my mind, to be confronted in the kitchen by my Owner also completely naked, looking for cups so he can pour the tea!
The whole scene is bizarre beyond belief.
"Vyerochka: the cups: do you know ...?"
"Da! Gaspadeen. Here let me help you."
"Thank you -- no -- take three cups. There! That's better. Please join us. Sveta has told you about Alana?"
What a couple they are! For two people who must be somewhere in middle age, they have been spared many of the ravages of time.
Gaspadeen is tall, beautifully muscled with not a hint of 'middle aged spread'. He holds himself perfectly erect in his posture. You can see he is in very good shape. It is clear now why the Dacha should have such a well organised and well equiped gymnasiun. As he turns, I see on his shoulder a tattoo of the Archangel Michael, Chief Commander of the Armies of Heaven and (according to Neena) leader of the Heavenly Hosts protecting Russian cities. How can they be so apparently religious and yet be so completely at ease with what they have done to me?
Gaspazha is also tall, but not quite so tall as her husband. Her complexion is more swarthy and her pubic hair is as dark as the hair on her head. She has the poise and grace of a gymnast and the body of an athlete - a runner to complement the 'body builder' physique of her husband. Her mons forms a neat dome between her legs with her labia nicely formed beneath. The tops of her legs have been carefully waxed (I guess) and her public hair has been shaped into a little knot above her labia. I find my mouth beginning to water. What would she be like to suck?
Gaspadeen Kustensky thrusts a cup into my hand. Breaking up my fantasies. "I don't usually take milk but I have added some jam. Is that... I mean are you happy with ...?" So odd that he is polite and thoughtful! Concerned that his slave might still enjoy her tea with milk, the English way and not tea with jam, in the Russian way. Has he forgotten the efforts which are being made to help me forget my English ways? Perhaps, at a moment such as this, forgetfulness is understandable.
"Da! Gaspadeen. I am perfectly happy. You are both very thoughtful. So when ...?"
"The little one has not been born yet! Alana telephoned to say she is going to the clinic," replies Gaspazha Sveta on his behalf and continues:
"She has also asked -- no, that's not quite right ... she has told us to stay here until she has news."
"Ah. Well, I am sure that is ... er ... understandable. A time for the couple themselves?"
"It is rather like the night of one's marriage, adds Anatoly Sergeyevitch, "Not the occasion for parents to be close by!"
"No, absolutely not!" It's how I would feel if it was me.
So at last, a moment of shared experience between the three of us! We have all had that moment of perfect intimacy, after our marriages. They have taken my marriage from me and Neena, their lieutenant, has tried to persuade me that the moment belongs to another girl in another world. As things stand right now, she is correct but that other girl and I are still connected by some shared, tenuous memories. Especially in the stillness of the night, when I can still feel her, when I even feel that I was her. The curious thing is that now I feel no resentment, as I probably should. No feeling of having been cheated out of an experience - bearing the baby of my husband -- which should have been mine - would have been mine in due course, had I not walked down a particular street in a particular city at a particular time on a particular day. Yes: I am happy to do all I can to help others to enjoy this precious moment and I feel completely at ease with no disappointment or envy at doing so.
"We were planning to send you and Neena to Moscow to look after the house for Vitaly whilst Alana is in the clinic. When she comes home, there will be a professional paediatric nurse - Ocsana - to help with the technicalities. She has received training in London, by the way and you will be able to attend to all the other things which have to be done and then we'll see."
And then we will see. Here I stand, naked as the day I was born, planning the homecoming arrangements for the grandchild of my abductors, drinking tea with them, all of us naked, and feeling completely calm and sanguine as though that is how my life was meant to be. It's the calmness which is so disturbing. Why can't I still have the fire of someone like Pavea? The fire which burns within, to reassure me that one day - one day - I will be the mother of a child created by me and ... and ... what was his name? DMITRY
Dmitry Vitalyevitch Zhukov arrived in the world at 06:30 on a summer morning in June.
The staff (which of course now includes me but excludes Pavea who is still locked away safely in her cell) are gathered in the dining room where Svetlana Nikitechna and Anatoly Sergeyevitch make their announcement. There is champagne for all of us, even for me, and we toast the little boy and his parents and bask in the happiness of his grandparents who are in equal measure, delighted and relieved at his safe arrival. A photograph has been sent to Anatoly Sergeyevitch's i-phone and the phone is passed round for us all to admire a small squashy face of the sleeping infant, the rest of him wrapped in a white shawl, cradled in the arms of a tired but radiant Alana.
Neena approaches me: "you and I are to go to Alana's home in Moscow to make things ready. You will stay there for as long as you are required. I hear you were up in the night?"
I smile. A rude but interesting awakening!
"Da, Gaspazha, I can leave with you at once."
"Be at the garden door at ten, I will collect you from there."
The garden door. The door from which I stepped into the depths of a Russian winter, a year ago, or was it two? It seems so very long ago now. The door through which I stepped and first knew, first really knew that my life had changed for ever.
During the journey to Moscow, Neena briefs me on my duties and also sets up the ground rules. "You will have to go on shopping errands and assist Gaspadeen Vitaly and the nurse Ocsana. Also, I understand there is still work for you to do on your research report, so Dr Mendeleyev and Dr Romanova will need you at the University from time to time. It would be ..." she searches for the best word "... convenient if we can rely on you to find your own way around the City on the Metro."
I find that astonishing! It's a degree of freedom they haven't allowed me before.
"You can be accompanied, if necessary. The question is: can I rely on you? Do you at last know your place, Vyerochka? Will it be better to have you chaperoned?"
Well, how on earth do I reply to a question like that? Neena is proposing to give me a limited freedom, to be more a normal person once more. Is this that long hoped for opportunity for escape? But where could I go? Who do I know? I could turn up at the BBC office and tell my story. Would they believe such a fantastic tale? If I knew where the British Embassy was I could appeal for help but my appearance bears no relationship to any records they might obtain of me and -- assuming I got so far as crossing the threshold - whilst languid passport and nationality checks were made, my collar would signal my whereabouts and receive instructions to release its poison, to execute the runaway slave. Also: where are they anyway? I have not had access to anything which would tell me. It's clear. Neena is merely setting a temptation in front of me. I have to reject it.
"Thank you Gaspazha, but I would prefer to be chaperoned. First, I do not know my way around. Second, I do not want to suffer the consequences of getting lost: I do not want to 'worry' my collar as it tries to make sure I remain within any boundaries you have set. Third, this sounds like the chance to live a conventional life, but I do not have a conventional life anymore and I do not want to be tortured by the constant comparison of how I live now and what life was like for another girl in another place in another time. So please let me have one of the security staff as my companion!"
Neena smiles broadly." Bravo rapina! What a good reply! By your answer, I know you are now ready to take more responsibility and be more useful to us than you were before. You shall have Pyotr for the first few days. Afterwards, I will let you have a map of the city and the Metro, which will clearly show the areas in which you are permitted and the areas which are out of bounds and then you will be on your own responsibility -- but you can be sure, we shall still watch!"
I sigh in reply. This limited freedom will in fact be merely a longer leash. It will be another kind of hard work.
"If you look in the glove compartment you will find two things you will need" Inside I find a mobile phone and a wrist watch. I gaze at them uncomprehending for a moment. A watch and a phone I have not had a watch in ever such a long time and the mobile? Suddenly it seems to have something dangerous about it. This is something that could get me into serious trouble. Do I really have to take them? I would so much prefer to do without.
Neena ploughs on, "The mobile has only certain permitted numbers. You will only be able to reach my own mobile, the duty security guard at Vitaly and Alana's home, Vitaly and Alana themselves, Ocsana, the Dacha and any other numbers I add. Those would be Julia and Dr Mendeleyev on days when you have to work with them."
So, she really must be serious ...? NEENA'S MUSE
E-mail from Neena Alexandrovna to Anatoly Sergeyevitch Kustensky and Dr Igor Ivanovitch Mendeleyev
I am very pleased to report really excellent progress by Vyera.
I gave her instructions about her work for Vitaly and Alana in Moscow and mentioned in particular, that she would have to run shopping errands. I gave her the opportunity to ask for a chaperone to keep her under close supervision or to accept my offer of free access to the city.
Without hesitation, she asked to be chaperoned, to keep her grounded in her new life as a slave and to avoid the emotional torment of thinking of herself as a free individual once more and living a 'conventional life', to use her own words.
This answer makes me think that she is in fact now ready to work within a normal social sphere but within clearly defined boundaries. She should still receive regular discipline, not for the punishment of infractions (now quite rare) but to maintain her view of herself as an enslaved individual and that for her, enslavement has become her natural state. BIG CITY GIRL
We reach Alana and Vitaly's home once more; the small detached house in the neat Moscow suburb.
The garden is now full of flowers and flowering shrubs. It is very beautiful and tranquil.
I am in the downstairs office with Neena and Pyotr. Neena spreads out a plan of the Metro. It's not a standard plan. All the lines are present but only some of them are in colour and only some of the stations are included. (1)
"So these are your boundaries", Neena tells me. "You can reach the University directly using Line One -- here, do you see?" She glances up at me to make sure I am paying attention.
"Then", she continues, "we may need you to go here". She turns the plan over to reveal an extract from the Moscow street map showing the area around the University. When you leave the station, you turn left onto Vernadskogo Prospect and walk straight ahead. Then turn first left onto Stroiteley Ulitsa. Walk straight ahead and under the new Leninsky Prospect bridge turn right and walk down old Leninsky Prospect. In the second block on the left you will find the shop you need. It is called 'Mothercare'. What's funny?"
"I'm sorry, Gaspazha. I think I have seen that before."
"Ah ... really? ... ah. I do not think they exist outside Russia. I am sure if you reflect, you will agree you must have been mistaken."
So, occasionally my Owners and their colleagues actually do make mistakes, because I can even remember being taken to Mothercare when I was a little girl. There is one in every British town, but that's something I will keep to myself. (2)
I reply, "Yes, I am sure you are correct", but actually I do more than merely acquiesce. I summon up the mental effort to drive the memory away somewhere safe, somewhere far out of mind. Dwelling on it will do me no good and bring me no peace.
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