Take Me (Enslaved #1)

CHAPTER 8

I feel terrible the next morning.

Not because of the strain in my body—well, that too—but mostly because of the gnawing guilt.

I shouldn’t feel guilty about anything down here. But no matter how much I try to rationalize the guilt away, the message won’t stick.

Somehow, Mikhail has bent me so much to his will that obedience is taking precedence and wiping out my natural instincts. I don’t know if it’s been coming for a long time or if something snapped in me when I was in the chair yesterday.

It doesn’t matter. The need to obey is there, blaring and loud.

He clearly senses it too. He lets me eat the kasha on my own in the morning, leaving the cell while I do, and when he returns, I’m on my knees, hands flat on my thighs and head bowed. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I say when his perforated shoes appear before me.

“Finally getting somewhere,” he says with a disgruntled edge, like he’s still mad at me for running.

I hate it, hearing the disappointment in his voice. Lifting my head, I face his hard expression. “I’m really sorry, Sir,” I say, my mouth twitching as emotions threaten to spill.

He peruses me for a moment, then lets out a grunt as if accepting my apology. “Are you going to behave today and let Dax clean you out without a fuss?”

Inhaling a staggered breath, I look down and nod.

“Don’t forget what you learned yesterday, or I’ll have to teach you again,” he scolds.

Leveling myself with another deep breath, I look up. “Yes, Sir.”

He accepts with a brusque nod and opens the door. “Then crawl to Dax. Hands and knees.”

I crawl down the empty hall, my head lowered in submission and my movements slow and measured. Mikhail follows two steps behind, clearly testing my obedience. I deliver in every way possible. I don’t even think about running, and not even when a guard passes with a struggling girl do I look up. All I see is her kicking legs in my peripheral vision as he carries her in front of him. It’s eerie because she doesn’t make a single sound. All I hear is the heavy thuds of the guard’s boots.

“Can I ask a question?” I say once they have passed.

“Go ahead,” Mikhail replies. “As long as you keep moving.”

“What happened to her?”

“Dax cut her vocal cords.”

I go stiff in all muscles, clenching my teeth as horror washes over me. Yet I keep crawling.

Grabbing my hair, Mikhail stops me and leans down to face me. “He’s not gonna do that to you.”

I stare at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” I parrot with a slight nod.

“He only does that upon order. Most men like to hear their women scream, but a few enjoy the silence.” He releases my hair and straightens. “Or the power of taking their voice.” With a soft kick to my ass, he spurs me on. “Now, keep going. Dax is waiting.”

I continue on my hands and knees and veer to my left, through an open door, when Mikhail gives the order. I stop just inside, my heart pulsing wildly from what Mikhail just told me and from the sight of Dax’s office. With my head down, I don’t see much, but the clinical metal of the rolling table and the gynecologist’s chair is more than enough to tell me where I am.

“The chair worked?” Dax asks.

“Seems like it,” Mikhail replies and kicks my ass again. “Get on the table.”

I rise to my feet, keeping my head down to avoid facing Dax as I scoot onto the table, perching on the edge, between the stirrups.

“Well, that’s a change if I’ve ever seen one.” Dax steps between the stirrups, right in front of me, and grabs my chin. For the first time, he looks me straight in my eyes as he lifts my head. His face remains impassive, giving nothing away, but his eyes roam across my features like he has found something new that has caught his curiosity.

“Lie down,” he says, releasing me and taking a step back.

Pressing my hands to the edges, I gingerly move farther in and lean back, staring into the ceiling as the heavy weight of my situation settles over me. I’ve just willingly placed myself in this chair, all but abetting the abuse and degradation Dax is about to thrust upon me. I can’t take it, but I can’t fight either. So I shut my eyes and squeeze my fists at my sides as I try to breathe through the tight constriction in my chest.

“Give me your left hand,” Dax says as he steps around the table.

I lift my hand and let him bring it above my head and place it in one of the attached leather cuffs. The leather wraps around my wrist as Dax pushes the strap through the buckle, and I jump as he pulls tight to close it. Then he does the same to my other hand, and I obediently go along, letting him trap me deeper in helplessness, letting him chip away at my autonomy. All without a peep.

“Pull at your hands,” Mikhail says once both are trapped in the cuffs.

Opening my eyes, I face him, wanting to protest, but as he keeps staring me down with uncompromising authority, I relent. First, I give a little pull, and when he lifts his eyebrows, I pull harder until I’m jerking at the restraints, moaning and whimpering at the unbreakable resistance. Heat swirls in my core even as embarrassment and defeat coil tight inside me.

“Enough,” Mikhail says, and I go still, gluing my eyes to the ceiling as I bite my lip to suppress the gnawing defeat.

Silence prevails for a whole minute, and when I glance toward the two men to see what’s going on, I find Dax watching me with a strange sort of fascination, head slightly tilted.

A smile spreads across his lips as he points at me and looks at Mikhail. “Did that turn her on?”

“Sure did.”

“Well, well, well.” He makes a slight tilt of his chin and steps between my legs again. I look down there, thinking he’s going to touch me, but he simply holds out a big hand. “Give me your leg.”

I lift my leg and place it in his calloused hand, and a strange sensation buzzes in my skin as he wraps his warm fingers around my shin and gently places it in the stirrup.

He’s about to grab the leather strap but hesitates, glancing at me and drawing his hand back. “Keep your leg there.” He points at the other stirrup. “Put your other leg up.”

Swallowing hard, I lift my other leg and place it in the cold metal.

Dax looks back and forth between my unbound legs and my face, and I barely breathe as I wait for his next move.

He steps back around the table and takes my chin in his hand, looking down at me while asking Mikhail, “Is she submissive at heart this one?”

“She is,” Mikhail confirms.

Something in Dax’s expression changes, something almost soft flickering in his gaze as he absently strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Such a rare thing.” Lifting his eyes to Mikhail, he says, “Lucky bastard to train this one.” Then his attention is back on me, studying me with something near reverence. It settles something deep within me, holding me in a trance—under his will.

Lifting two fingers to my mouth, he says, “Open up.” Instead of the usual bite of his command, there’s a gentleness to his tone that has me opening automatically.

He slides his fingers onto my tongue, holding my eyes captive as he strokes. The gesture is oddly intimate, and I find my breathing deepening as I let him invade the personal space and take control over my body.

Slowly, he glides his fingers back out, lingering a moment on my lip. “Good girl.”

Something warm and calm washes over me at the sound of those two words, and all I want to do is please him just so I can hear them again. I follow him with my eyes as he pulls the table up, takes a seat on his rolling chair between my legs, and puts on gloves. A special kind of calmness seems to have descended over him as he goes slower than usual, like he’s soaking up each moment.

Resting a gloved hand on my inner thigh, he looks at me with insistent yet patient eyes. “Are you gonna be a good girl and let me clean out your bowels?”

I lick my lips and say in a breathy voice, “Yes, Sir.”

A smile tips up the corners of his lips, and his praise is even sweeter this time as he says, “Good girl.”

When he turns to the tray beside him, I realize I’m breathing deep and loud, through my mouth, all the way into my stomach. And when he lifts the large syringe, smears lube on the tip, and presses it into my narrow hole, I just stare at him.

It’s not until water seeps into my belly, unnatural and unwanted, that I react.

A tiny mewl slips past my lips, and I snap my eyes shut, flexing my hands as I tug at the straps. The water keeps coming in a constant flow, and a slow sense of panic creeps along the edges of my mind. I writhe my hips on the surface, wanting to get away from the intrusion.

“Lie still,” Dax urges with enough firmness to incite my instant obedience. But alarm keeps building in my body, and my legs twitch in the stirrups as the need to rip them out and close them wars with the need to obey.

Finally, the syringe disappears, and the water settles deep in my belly, where it’s less obtrusive.

A warm hand on my stomach has me opening my eyes to look straight into Dax’s sincere ones.

“Would you feel better if I tied you down?”

“I—I don’t…” the idea soothes the turmoil rolling inside me, but I can’t admit it.

“I can see it on your legs,” he nods to the side where my leg is still twitching. “You’re struggling with yourself. Not having a choice would make it easier.”

I give a shake of my head, not getting how he reads it so easily.

“I don’t mind.” He closes the strap around my ankle and pulls to let me feel the rush of being trapped and helpless. “You’ve proven your submission plenty.”

He proceeds to close every other strap on the table, stroking my skin and holding my gaze as he goes. When he’s done, there’s not a single thought in my head. There’s just him, his calm power, and the irrational peace of being trapped.

My eyelids flutter, wanting to fall shut as a pleasant dizziness fills my head.

I’ve never felt anything like it, and I find myself never wanting to leave this chair.

I register Dax returning to sit on the stool between my legs just before I let my eyes fall shut, closing me into a peaceful darkness where barely the feeling of the plastic tip sinking into my ass disturbs me.

But once again, I can’t ignore the water when Dax pushes more into my belly. Humiliation hovers at the edges of my mind, trying to break through the quiet darkness and infect my thoughts. But when the restlessness tries to take hold of my body, I meet the resistance of the straps. They keep me down like a tight, comforting blanket, stabilizing me through the humiliation.

“Good girl,” Dax croons, and when he starts on the next syringe, something odd happens.

The water distends my belly painfully, but the pain mixes with the loss of control—the dominance that competent hands exert over me—and it morphs into something else.

A pulsing heat close to my core.

A moan sounds somewhere in the room, and the moment I realize it’s mine, my eyes dart open, staring into gentle eyes that reflect a steadiness strong enough to level me through the storm.

“Close your eyes,” Dax gently says, and I do. “Your body knows that it belongs to me right now. Let your mind accept it too.”

A voice in the back of my head tells me that it belongs to someone else. Someone far away who laid claim to it before I got here. But the thought quickly drowns in the overwhelming sensation of the water pressing against my belly from the inside.

I moan again, and when Dax begins on the fourth round of water, tears trickle from my eyes. But it’s not tears of grief. It’s pure overstimulation—pure loss of control—that needs an outlet.

“It’s too… too much,” I whimper somewhere along the way, my words slurred and weak. I open my eyes only to have them fall shut a moment later, too heavy to keep open. “Too much.”

“We’re done in a moment.”

The pressure builds a little longer, and then the syringe disappears. But the discomfort doesn’t fade. It keeps throbbing inside me, needing to get out, and it takes all my drowsy energy to keep it inside.

Someone starts loosening the straps, working quickly, and then I’m hoisted up into strong arms. Long hair tickles my nose as Dax cradles me against his hard chest and carries me through the room to place me on the toilet.

“Are… I…” I try to say something, but can’t form the words.

“Let go,” a warm voice says as a wide hand cradles the back of my head, tugging me forward to lean against a stomach.

From there on, I barely realize what happens. It’s like I’m drugged all over again.

Somewhere along the way, I recognize that it’s a good thing, not being cognizant during the humiliation my body endures. But I also think that it doesn’t matter, because there’s nothing humiliating about the way large hands gently handle me, carefully washing me and curling me up in a warm lap.

“That was quite fascinating,” someone says, and I blink my heavy lids to find Mikhail in a chair across the room, watching with curious eyes. I had completely forgotten he was here.

“She went deep into subspace,” Dax says, ruffling my hair gently. “Never seen that happen to a girl in this place before.”

“Maybe we should train more women like this. Good money if we find the right buyer, I think.”

“I’ll definitely be up for it,” Dax says. “It gets tiresome with all the screaming sometimes. I swear, some days, I just want to cut all of their vocal cords.”

I squirm on his lap as the horror scenario plays out in my head.

“No worries, pretty girl. Not yours,” Dax reassures, hugging me tight.

I blink to see Mikhail rub his scruff and cock his head. “I do like them screaming, but the whole brain-twisting part is a good challenge.” He taps the side of his head. “Keeps me sharp.”

“I wouldn’t mind you sending this one my way again.”

“Of course. But I’ll keep my eye out for submissive tendencies in other girls. Fear tends to cover it up, so we might not see even if it’s there.”

The two men keep chatting for a while. Disturbing though the subject might be, I manage to shut it out and rest my head on Dax’s shoulder, enjoying the way his fingertips move against my scalp.

He feels strong and steady, and as long as I keep my eyes closed and ignore the voices, I can almost pretend that it’s Nikolai holding me, and I drift back into that warm, fuzzy place.