Absolute Power-3. Rules of the Game.
The room we entered was completely different from the previous little room with the mirror. In size, it was no smaller than a gymnasium, though the lighting made it hard to properly assess the dimensions: the half closer to us was brightly lit by spotlights hanging from the ceiling, while the opposite half was in semi-darkness, where only a long table and about ten people sitting at it could be made out. To my right, I saw a large, shallow tiled pool, accessible by four steps, but our "commander" was already directing Dasha the other way, and she was, on the contrary, ascending onto a raised platform, like a stage. When we
all climbed up there, the music that had been playing in the background fell silent, and from the semi-darkness came whistles and exclamations of approval (I only made out "finally, the Snow Maidens have arrived"). Our leader began to speak, and he apparently had a microphone because his voice was clearly audible throughout the entire room."Dear guests of our celebration! I apologize for the delay in the entertainment program. As stated in the invitation, the host of the house—today we are doing without names, I remind you—our program is special. Our Snow Maidens have come to perform not for money, but for something more valuable. Let me briefly introduce them so you understand what we're talking about,"—he gave Dasha a light push in the back, and she, looking around anxiously, stepped forward. "For example, here is Darya. 38 years old, teaches at a good institute in one of the regions—a very upstanding woman. But her son went down the wrong path, dabbled in political opposition, and is now awaiting trial. How much is he facing, Darya?"
Almost crying, she quietly uttered: "10 years."
"10 years!" he repeated into the microphone for everyone. "And here is our second Snow Maiden, Viktoria! She also worked in administration until she was 35, was a responsible employee, but in the last elections, she decided to count votes 'honestly'—as she puts it. Went to the prosecutor's office, talked about fraud: ended up under investigation herself for forgery! And how much are you facing now, my dear?"
Staring at a fixed point, the blonde said shortly, "10."
"Also 10 years! And now Yekaterina,"—without waiting for a push, I stepped forward myself. "34 years old, works in advertising. But her husband got involved with undesirable organizations—and now..."
I myself said 10 years, accepting the rules of the game.
"As you have gathered, here are girls who could lose 10 years of their lives if they hadn't come here. And here they are. By the grace of our evening's host, for this brave self-sacrifice alone, justice, in your person, can grant them a reduction to 5 years. Girls, you can rejoice at that!"
Personally, I would have given a lot for such a thing just yesterday, but right now, such generosity frightened me more. What did they want in return for such gifts?
From the darkness of the hall, someone coughed authoritatively, and the Master paused to give him the floor. The words were spoken in a booming, confident voice, one clearly accustomed to giving orders. He didn't hide behind formalities among friends, so his speech put everything in its place.
"I'll tell you, friends, as we know, justice can be merciful. But when it comes to state affairs, it's not right to simply pardon—one must atone and fight recidivism. Therefore, it's very important that these 15 gifted years be worked off, not just given. On the other hand, we're not stingy, are we? We gave 15 years, let's add another 6 years. But though Themis is blind, she must account for the strength of repentance or, in our case, the diligence of atonement. So, to ensure the girls don't slack off, I propose we gamble these years. If you just came to serve your number, you'll get your minus 5 years from the sentence and that's it. If you try harder, you'll get minus 7. And the most diligent will get the New Year's prize—minus 9 years. Considering pre-trial detention, you could consider that a ticket to freedom. But for that, you bitches, you'll have to try hard. You didn't come here to ride on dicks and catch a thrill... though if we want, we'll give you a ride. You're here to atone, to suffer, and then to carve it into your own and all your loved ones' minds: 'don't yap at the masters.' So, to make it fun for us, we'll play games, but you won't have any fucking fun: shameful, scary, painful, disgusting—that's what it might be. For this, we have one of the best masters for training such bitches, our host. And we are men with experience and rich imaginations...
If you're against it, you can fuck off out of here. If you agree, then take off those clothes and fall to your knees, as is proper when pleading for leniency. You have one minute to think."
Applause erupted from the hall. When it died down, the Master waited a little longer and addressed the guests.
"Well, great, everyone's in their places! Now I ask for five minutes to communicate with my charges, so our evening goes more smoothly."
He stepped behind us, rustled something metallic, and began speaking from there.
"Now that all the i's are dotted, you must remember a few things for the convenience of our communication, so to speak."
"First, your curls are not needed here, so gather your hair into a ponytail or a tight bun,"—he walked over and handed us plain black hair ties. In his other hand, I discovered with horror a thin stick, like bamboo, about a meter long. My hands were trembling, but I gathered my hair into a ponytail. Dasha also managed quickly, but Vika, for fumbling too long with her long hairstyle, got a whack with the stick on her ass.
"Second, while you're here, forget your statuses and social roles: mothers, daughters, bosses, friends—all that stayed behind the door. Here you are bitches who follow the masters' commands, first and foremost—mine." Simultaneously, he fastened fairly tight leather collars, about 5 cm thick, with a metal ring, on me and the other girls. "All your movements are now only on your knees or on all fours.
Third, you need to remember a few standard positions so I don't always have to guide you with the stick,"—he smiled at Vika on these words. "To start, just 3: wait, inspection, and holes.
Dasha will show us 'wait.' Do it, bitch, don't dawdle: legs spread slightly wider than shoulders, ass seated on heels; back straight, arms brought behind the back and grab your own elbows."
Dasha assumed the indicated pose. From behind, I saw her fingers with white manicure gripping her forearms. The Master walked around her and made a few adjustments. "Spread your legs a little wider (he lightly tapped the stick on the insides of her thighs), and you need to keep your back straight (the stick pressed its tip between her shoulder blades, and his hand pulled her hair bun)."
When the desired result was achieved, the Master pointed the stick at Dasha:
"In this pose, you should be clearly visible."
I understood the next pose was mine, and the name 'holes' didn't please me at all.
"Holes will be a bit more complicated; they need to be shown from both sides,"—the Master confirmed my fears. He pushed me in the back, and I took a couple of steps on my knees, ending up a meter ahead of everyone. "Place your legs together, palms on your butt. Bend over so your back is parallel to the floor" (This turned out to be quite difficult, but his hand held me by the collar). "Now show the holes: you have 3 of them, and all should be maximally opened in this pose. Stretch your arms to the sides and up until your pink slit is opened." I stretched so much that the lips opened and even air got inside, but then I felt a barely perceptible touch of the stick to the holes, making them clench and sending a jolt all the way to my lower abdomen.
"We also open the mouth wide and stick the tongue out to the max." I did it, but it turns out you need to stick your tongue out harder, which he did, grabbing it and pulling it down towards my chin until I moaned from the pain.
"This pose is more practical, it opens access to your inner world: the throat,"—two fingers plunged deep into my mouth until I coughed. Waiting for me to stick my tongue out again, the Master continued. "The pussy,"—I understood what was coming, but still flinched when fingers thrust into my opened slit. It was unpleasant, but when they left it, I realized with horror where they were headed next. My husband and I had had anal sex, but very rarely and only when I was in a particular mood. Now, despite my palms pulling my buttocks apart, the hole itself was clenched from fear to a state where "you could bite through a crowbar."
The Master grabbed my ponytail and whispered in my ear: "Here's your punishment for being a coward, Anya. Wanted to hide this? And of course, the ass,"—he said the last part loudly for all to hear. His fingers touched my anus, and after several agonizing seconds for me of fitting, one of them slowly entered me. Not due to my tormentor's tenderness, but because of my ass's resistance. Those 7 centimeters stretched over 20 seconds, each one feeling like I was being impaled on a pinecone. The pain radiated throughout my lower abdomen, and I cried out softly, unable to hold back, even knowing no one had allowed screaming.
"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue, or I'll insert a second finger,"—the Master's face was beside mine. He accompanied each word by bending the finger inside me, making me shudder. I couldn't handle a second finger right now, so I obeyed the order, hoping he would finish soon.
After 10 seconds, he pulled me up by the hair.
"Good girl! Now let's turn to the girls and show them your progress. You do better with the finger, so I'll leave it in for now." He hooked his finger inside my ass and began turning me 180 degrees. I grunted and groaned while shuffling on my knees, turning and bending: now I was showing my slit to our jury. Tears of pain and humiliation streamed from my clenched eyes, but the Master yanked my hair again: "Eyes are open in this pose." The girls watched me grimace as the Master's finger left my rear (that was just as unpleasant). Then, unhurriedly and thoroughly, he wiped that finger on my outstretched tongue. He inspected it and, not entirely satisfied, told me to suck it clean. I sucked and looked into his cold, cruel eyes. The slightly bitter taste of the finger was tolerable, but the situation itself was wild: I'm sucking the finger of a man who pulled it from my ass, looking him in the eyes; all this right in front of the frightened girls; meanwhile, I'm still presenting my holes to the hall.
From there, during all this time, there were no protests or sympathetic sighs—only chuckles and exclamations of approval. Perhaps the sight of my holes tested someone's patience: "When are we going to start playing with these whores?!"
The Master pulled his finger from my mouth.
"Everyone, wait," he said, and Vika and I were finally able to change our uncomfortable positions.
"Which game shall we start with, gentlemen? There are external and internal games, front and back, bottom and top—whatever you desire!"
"Internal and from behind—look how the dark-haired one liked it,"—shouted the same voice, and everyone roared with laughter. I literally felt Vika and Dasha trembling beside me at such a suggestion.
"By the way, are we supposed to address them by their full names? Am I supposed to remember every bitch?!"
"You're just rushing things a bit,"—said the Master. "Give me another minute."
He stepped behind us again, and I heard a click and smelled alcohol.
"Dasha, inspection!" After that, some manipulations were performed on Dasha, front and back—I was afraid to turn my head without a command. Half a minute later, I also received the command "inspection," and balancing on my toes, I felt tickling on my back and butt, then on my stomach—the Master was writing something. Finally, he took me by the hair and carefully wrote something on my forehead. Vika met the same fate. "You can look at each other, girls, I see you're curious,"—the Master smirked.
We quickly glanced at each other, and judging by the number 1 drawn on Dasha and 3 on Vika, I wouldn't be wrong if I had a 2 on my stomach. And indeed, that was the case.
"Wait!"—said the Master and turned to the hall.
"Voilà, they are all numbered! If you need a particular one, you can just call the bitch's number. Well, if you want to start, I see no reason to delay. Internal from behind?"
Approving shouts rang out.
"Then I suggest you move closer to the wet zone, because that game will take place there."
People, mostly dressed in bathrobes, began leisurely moving from the table to the sofas in another part of the room, and the Master turned to us.
"On all fours, bitches, and let's go there,"—the tip of the stick pointed to the space near the entrance, which I had taken for a pool.
I least of all wanted "back games" right now, but remembering what was at stake, I clumsily crawled off the stage on all fours, following Vika's butt, adorned with the number 3...
To be continued.