(Author's Note: I've changed it back to NonCon/Reluctance, so you can stop sending me letters, whoever you are. If you do write a comment, be a person and criticize my work, not my character. It's rude and just makes you look like an ignorant fool. This one is very short, compared to my other chapters. The last was so long and took me forever to write, and this was looking to be long too until I decided to cut it up. As with all my stories, all characters are at least eighteen (18) years old or older, and I hope you enjoy! All feedback/comments welcomed.)
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"What do you say?" He asks, looking at her face as he pulls her close to him.
Angelique looks up to him, her body feeling sore and abused, her mind hating herself for enjoying the sick man's touch. Fearful over what he may do over her disobedience, Angelique softly speaks as she rests her head on his chest. "Thank you Sir."
~~~~~
The feeling of the warm sun shining through the large windows onto his face slowly wakes Mikhail up from his orgasm educed sleep. Fluttering his eye lids, heavy with sleep, he stretches his strong body as he looks down at the young woman laying her head atop of his chest, her arm draped across his body. Angelique's long ebony locks are strewn across the upper part of his body, leading down to the soft, porcelain-like skin of her back.
Something about her made Mikhail feel different. It was something he had never felt before with the girls he purchased. An alien emotion to him he has never felt in such a long time. It was the only reason he decided to bring her up to his room after being so disobedient and tortured under harsh conditions. Looking down her body, the sight of the welts on the bottom of her feet brought a smile to his face, thinking she got off so easy when so many had suffered and died at his hands for trying to escape the way she did.
Carefully he moves his body out from under her, allowing her the much needed rest as the Russian man prepares for another busy day. His feet make virtually no sounds on the cold marble floor, walking over to the bathroom to shower his body clean of cum and sweat. As he stands under the warm, cascading waters, Mikhail watched through the open bathroom door his sleeping little pet, curled up under the blankets. He smiles at the thought of what he has planned for her today. Today, she will be broken; humiliated for his personal amusement, along with some of his goons.
"You better get up soon if you don't want to have my friend Olga come up and wash you again." Mikhail says as he dressed in a nicely cut suit and tie, brushing off the sleeves as he looked over at the tangled mass of blankets, sheets, and limbs. "Bad girls like that don't get to eat, and I'm guessing you're starving."
Smiling to himself as he walks out the doorway, the sound of scuffling in the bedroom reaches his ears. 'If she wants to eat...' Mikhail thinks to himself, strolling down the stairs towards the dining room, '...she's going to have to earn it.'
The dining room table is filled with a wide assortment of food. Plates of various breakfast meals, ranging from eggs to waffles, bacon and sausages to diced fruit, are laid out across the table. Various members of Mikhail's inner circle of thugs and crime are sitting around the table, getting up as their boss enters as a sign of respect, as if this were the military. Waving them down, Mikhail walks over to his seat at the head of the table. The large, upholstered chair he sits in looks like a king's throne, out of place in the dining room with small, yet eloquent dining chairs.
"ΠΠΎΠ±ΡΠΎΠ΅ ΡΡΡΠΎ, ΠΡΠ°Ρ." (Good morning, Brother) He said to Nikolai as he walked by, clasping his hand on his shoulder as he continued towards the throne of a chair.
Sitting in his throne-like chair, Mikhail picks up the newspaper, idly listening to the small talk going on in his native tongue as he reads the paper. Reading the papers fills him with amusement at the economic articles, all doom and gloom about recession. Recessions are his busiest times. Everywhere people are looking for an escape from the harsh realities of the world, through drugs, prostitution, whatever to take their minds off of things and it all means profit for Mikhail the Russian. Even murder for hire is starting to boom, with so many disgruntled business men and women along with shareholders looking for the ultimate payback. No matter what, the Criminal Underworld would always be ripe for profit until drugs, prostitution, and murder is made legal.
After a few minutes, the noise of the random, small talk stops abruptly. Smiling to himself, Mikhail knows exactly why they've stopped as he finishes up a newspaper article before folding it down. The sight of Angelique, wrapped in one of his silk robes, makes Mikhail a little agitated. Pointing to the chair at his side with a stern look, he watches as she timidly and awkwardly walks over to the chair.
"Strange..." He says, holding out his hand as if expecting her to give him something. "I don't remember allowing you the privilege of clothing. Give it."
"But..." She says, looking around at the table of the men, sitting and watching her with a lustful hunger in their eyes. "...I'll be, naked."
Smirking softly, Mikhail keeps his hand held out for the robe. "Then you can be naked down in the dark dungeon all by yourself. You pick."
With a look of sadness and humiliation on her face, Angelique slowly strips out of the silk robe, exposing her freshly showered body as she places it into Mikhail's awaiting hands. "Good girl."
Looking at all of the food prepared and set up on the table made her stomach growl. It had felt like days since she ate anything and staring at the food only made her famine feeling grow.
Taking a plate, Angelique slowly put food on her plate, trying to look as if she wasn't that hungry when deep inside she was absolutely starving. She didn't want to give him the sick, twisted satisfaction. Filling her plate up with a wide assortment of breakfast, Angelique sat down in the chair next to Mikhail, only to have her plate taken away by him.
"Hey!" She exclaims, looking at him as he took her food away. "Give it back."
With a soft smile that dripped with twistedness, Mikhail looked at her casually, leaning back into his chair. "You haven't earned your food privilege yet, my little slut."
"You're not going to make me..." She says with a bashful gulp, looking around at all of the testosterone filled men watching her. "... play with you, in front of them, are you?"
Mikhail's soft amused laugh fills the silent dining room. "No, but I like that you assumed that I actually wanted you with my breakfast." He says, pointing over to the corner of the dining room. It was empty and blank except for a large, plush pillow on the floor, almost like a small mat. "My boys and I want a show. So why don't you go get comfortable over on that nice pillow and pleasure yourself."