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"Tolya?"
"Mmmm?"
"How is Vyera getting on with her research?"
Such a question! It is early morning and Anatoly and Sveta are in bed together. Sveta is awake but that is far more than you could say for Anatoly. To be shaken out of sleep and interrogated about a slave’s research project at this time in the morning. For goodness sake!
"What? Er ... I ... er ... I don’t know. I have not spoken to Mendeleyev for ... er ... a while. I have been thinking about Alana and Vitaly and little Dmitry. I think she is "writing up" or something, so there is a comprehensive account of what she has done ... er ..."
Anatoly yawns, turns over and attempts to re-establish his connection with the unconscious.
"Tolya! Are you listening?"
"No, not really."
"I think we should give Vyera something back. We have taken a lot. It’s time to give back."
"Huh? OK ... erm ... yes, I guess so. We could ...."
But before he can finish his sentence, Anatoly is asleep again, leaving Sveta to make plans.
I am coming to the end of my project. There are so many mixed emotions. I am amazed I have been able to marshal the data, carry out the statistical tests and answer the questions I set myself when I started. For a moment I think about how the whole project began, in an untidy office with Professor Dawney talking about some observational field work she wanted me to carry out. It is a life-time ago. Trying to remember begins to make me feel sick: it was so long ago and so far away! I have a sensation which is almost like vertigo.
Over the past several weeks I have spent all my free moments writing up, checking references, checking the Bibliography (Dr Mendeleyev is very particular about how the citations are written out) and assembling the overall account:-
It is a Thesis. It is my thesis. And now it is complete. But what will happen to me? Now my intellectual labours are complete, will I remain just a domestic slave and a sexual muse? I have completed the task I have been given and now I wait to be used for something else. That’s what it is to be a slave.
What I still can’t quite understand is why my life has changed in this totally unexpected undeserved way? The ‘how’ is straight-forward but the ‘why’ remains obscure.
Before I was Active. Now I am passive.
At this point in my life, I had expected to be obsessed with having my research published. In fact, I now obsess about shopping. Running the errands. Reporting when I enter the Metro and leave, when I enter the shop and when I leave.
I used to teach students. Now I use my body to pleasure other people. Instead of teaching, I fuck and I suck and I lick.
I expected to find myself enthusiastically searching my intellectual horizon for new research ideas and opportunities. Now, I pour my efforts in to cleaning, so not a speck of dust nor spot of dirt is left. Partly I do this because it is how I am, but mainly there is the certain prospect of punishment for any failure to maintain standards.
I used confidently make presentations at meetings of my colleagues: now I am glad to wait at table and I am grateful to be completely out of the lime light.
Before, I would prepare applications for research grants. Now I, with unrestrained enthusiasm, prepare my body for physical and sexual exploitation.
Before, I disciplined my mind for the intellectual challenges I would face. Now I have my body disciplined to be at the disposal of other people; my Owners, my Trainer and anyone else I am given to.
In my occasional moments of clarity, as I am just now, I am horrified. Before long an unscratchable sexual itch begins and I throw myself into an abject surrender to physical and sexual slavery. I love it, perhaps as I have loved no other.
Neena comes into my cell. The lights have just faded up and I have gone through my daily ritual of personal housekeeping. I am expecting her to give me a list of my tasks for today. I have been back at the Dacha for several days now. Alana and Vitali do not need my help for the time being and I have picked up my routine once more. Today we will run outside and I will go to the gym for a ‘shoulder and pectoral muscles and heavy weights’ session but Neena surprises me. "Tomorrow, rabinya, you will be examined on the research work you have completed. Your report has been properly printed and bound, using the papers you have been working on. One copy is in Russian. The other in English. Today, after exercise, you will work upstairs in the office and review the English copy. Mark any errors in pencil. Score through technical errors with a forward stroke and spelling and grammatical errors with a backwards stroke. The computer will be turned off, by the way.
She smiles a smug smile, to remind me of the day when I tried to make a bold and desperate escape through email.
I reply, brightly, "Thank you Gaspazha Neena, for keeping me from temptation!"
"Your visits to Moscow have made you cheeky, rabinya Vyerka. Perhaps you need a caning to keep you grounded?"
This time I keep any more clever remarks silent in the privacy of my mind and merely hang my head.
Some two hours later, I am in the office. Coffee has been provided.
Two large-ish books are open on the office table. It is my Thesis, except not officially a ‘Thesis’, I suppose but merely it is a research report which I am completing for others, who will benefit from my work. I suppose binding the report into a book keeps it tidy?
By the end of the day I can report to Neena that there are only six small typing errors in the English version and the report can be presented tomorrow – but to whom? I made a detailed summary at the University some months ago to all the people who cared about the project. The only person left out was Angela. For goodness sake, Angela will not be coming will she? Suddenly I feel as if I have been stood under a cold shower. I feel sick, cold, distraught, desperate. What if Angela was instrumental in proposing me for abduction? What would I say to her? I imagine myself standing before her, naked. I present the report. She begins to cross examine me, all the time smirking. Her face eloquently telling me that I should not have left her to marry Joe, that my present condition is my punishment for disloyalty whilst her voice delivers calm, measured, taxing academic questions.
During the night, Angela visits me in my dreams. I kneel at her feet, just like I used to do. She speaks. I listen. She proposes. I do as I am told. She demands. I agree. She tells me to leave Joe. I refuse.
I wake up alone in my cell. I realise that she has won. I have been taken from Joe and he from me. This is my punishment for disloyalty. Life imprisonment and slavery.
In the morning, Neena brings me to the dining room. I am dressed in a white shirt, a black skirt and black slip-on clogs on my bare feet. I am sweating and trembling. I will have to face Angela.
"Vyerka! What is the matter with you?"
I can’t speak. I open my mouth but no words come.
Neena grips my arm firmly. It hurts but the pain is welcome. It keeps me from my fears. "Now listen to me. Listen to me. You will present your report just as you did at MSU. You will answer the questions put to you. You will do no more and you will do no less. Do you understand Vyerka? You will knock and walk through that door and I will follow behind you. You will do it now."
I am sitting on one side of the dining room table. Opposite me sit, Dr Mendeleyev, Julia Romanova and another man I have never seen before. He says he is Dr Andrei Mikhailovitch Akunin. He is an epidemiologist.
The three of them take me through each section of the report, asking how the research began, how the subjects were chosen, randomization, blinding the subjects to the nature of the investigation, informed consent (consent, for goodness sake!), data collection, verification, data organization, analysis and the inferences drawn. All the questions seem astonishingly easy. I am still waiting for the difficult questions to begin when Dr Mendeleyev, acting as chairman, draws proceedings to a close. (1)
"Thank you Vyera Anatol’yevna. Please be patient with us for a few moments whilst we reflect on what you have told us."
I feel Neena tap me on my shoulder and the two of us retire into the drawing room next door. The Mongolians have left tea. Neena directs me to sit in one of the chairs and pours me a cup.
"I am sorry Gaspazha! I have not poured for you. Forgive ..."
"Be quiet Vyera. Drink your tea and wait patiently like a good little slave, will you?"
"Yes, Gaspazah. I am sorry."
Why has she called me Vyera? That is the adult form of my name and unsuitable for a slave. My examiners called me Vyera Anatol’yevna. Perhaps Dr Akunin does not know ‘about my situation’?
"Your bum will have plenty of opportunity to be sorry, soon enough."
Suddenly Julia Romanova is at the door. She smiles. I stand. "Dr Kuznetsova", she says, "please follow me."
Uncomprehending, I follow. In the dining room, Gaspadeen and Gaspazha Kustensty have joined Dr Mendeleyev and Dr Akunin. Ssisma, one of the Domestics is standing with a tray bearing glasses of champagne.
Dr Mendeleyev leans forward across the table and offers me his hand. "Congratulations, Vyera Anatol’yevna. My colleagues and I agree. You have defended your Thesis successfully. Your Thesis has met the standards required by the Lomonosov State University of Moscow to award the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. You are now Dr Vyera Anatol’yevna Kuznetsova."
Every one applauds - and I weep. Gaspazha Sveta lays her arm across my shoulder. "There, there, little girl", she says as if comforting a small child. "There, there."
The cars climb to the crest of the hill and park so their passengers may get out; Neena, Vyera, Pyotr, Anatoly and Sveta. In front of them, a vista of Moscow is spread out. Behind them, the central tower of Moscow State University rears up. Until 2000 it was the tallest building in Europe. (2) It is a breathtaking wedding cake of a building. Magnificently constructed and detailed but it is a building to overawe and a building to make the individual feel small and insignificant.
Vyera feels small now, as she is lead towards it. Poytr in front. Neena to her side Her Owners walking behind. She remembers the story she heard at school as a little girl: of Abraham leading Isaac up the mountain to be sacrificed. (3)
She is smartly dressed. A simple, elegant, formal black dress and shoes. Her legs are bare save for a gold ankle bracelet. It could be decorative but Vyera knows it is symbolic, to remind her that she is not as other people are. Reminding her that she is a slave, where ever she is and whatever she has been told to do, she is and she will always be enslaved. She has a new collar for today. A seamless, round, brushed silver metallic band encircling her neck. It is understated but this new understated collar has all the important lethality of the collar she usually wears. Neena told her so.
They pass through the main entrance, into the foyer. The little party stands for a moment. Gaspadeen Kustensky extends his hand: "Well done, Vyera. None of your predecessors have such an achievement to their credit. Congratulations!"
Sveta Kustenskaya leans forward to embrace and kiss. A light kiss on her cheek. "Remember to enjoy the moment. We are so very proud of you. We will enjoy watching you so much!"
The Kustenskies and Pyotr leave and Vyera is alone with Neena. "You have read the instructions?"
"Da, Gaspaszha."
"You know where to go?"
"Da, spaseeba."
"Good. We will all be waiting for you at the end."
Neena smiles and Vyera is at last alone, alone in a crown of happy boisterous young people but Vyera knows she has expectations to fulfill. She looks at her academic gown and in a moment of clarity, remembers that this moment should have been shared with others,
But they are no others, only Owners.
Vyera takes her place and the Ceremony unfolds in the cavernous University Assembly Hall. At the front, a dais stands before an enormous mosaic splattered with Soviet iconography in red and gold. (4) Against this background, the University Rector delivers speeches to the new graduates: congratulations on their achievement, recognition of their hard work done, thoughts on what the future may hold for them. Ah, if they only knew! Could any of those present imagine what the future might be or the bare headed girl in the front of the congregation? A future which will involve corporal punishment, bodily modification, sexual, physical and intellectual exploitation, perhaps disposal when her usefulness came to an end and even execution if she dared to abscond?
It is coming close to her time. Those to her right are standing, passing forwards under the orders of the Ushers. She obediently follows, as she should, to walk across the dais, to shake hands with the Faculty, to receive her scroll and to walk on into her future as Dr Vyera Anatol’yevna Kuznetsova, PhD, Lomonosov State University, Moscow. Dr Kuznetsova, rabinya.
Photographs always make people smile. Against the heroic, monolithic, background of the University buildings, on a warm sunny summer’s day Vyera is photographed in her academic robes, black and gold, her head covered by her Doctor’s hat, her Scroll in her hands, on her own, with Neena, with Anatoly, with Sveta, with her new "family" all together and in the company of Dr Mendeleyev and Dr Romaonva, as an academic triumvirate.
Has she enjoyed the day? The satisfaction of achievement has been alloyed with a nagging unhappiness. The day also belonged to Others who were absent and whilst Vyera often finds it difficult to remember who they are, because their names and faces are now small and often blurred in her memory, she is aware of the voids that they should fill on this happy day, this day of achievement, this day of celebration.
I have been summoned to the University, to see Drs Mendeleyev and Romanova.
Sergey, the security guard on duty today, gives me exactly enough money for the tickets I will have to buy to travel on the Metro. 28 roubles each way, 56 roubles in all. Together, we verify that my mobile is charged and working. He gives me just a little more money - the price of a phone call – just in case my mobile breaks down. I confirm the route I will take. He releases me from the house and I begin my journey.
I check the time at the station and send Sergey a text to tell him that I am about to enter.
I catch Metro from Chisty Purdy to Universitet, nine stops away on Line 1. As the train plunges down the dark tunnels, I read the names of the stations on the Metro Schema and play with the strange poetry of their names: Tverskaya, Arbatskaya, Kievskaya, Park Kultury, Pachatniki and Yasenevo.
As soon as I am above ground once more, I send a text to confirm my position and prepare to penetrate the warren of corridors and floors in the main university tower and presently I am once more standing outside the door which says: ήλθΰ Πξμΰνξβΰ.
I confirm my position by text to Sergey again and knock ...
"Dr Vyera!"
"Gaspazha. Vasha rabinya. Mistress.Your slave"
"What a day it was, last week; I was so pleased to see you graduate!"
"Yes: so unexpected. My Owners were very kind to me. I had not expected such ... generosity. The ceremony was wonderful and such a beautiful day and then to be taken to lunch afterwards. I was not expecting anything at all. After all, slaves ..."
"Are there for the benefit of their Owners."
"Yes: I understand that so much better now."
"You are very fortunate."
"Yes: I know. I am very fortunate."
"How does it make you feel?"
"Feel? ... it makes me feel ... grateful and also that I have a responsibility not to let my Owners down. Not to disappoint them in any way. Gratitude, resolve to do all I can to be the very best slave that I can be and always a responsibility to do my very best."
Julia pats me gently on my bum, smiles and says "Well done, rabinya"
Rabinya! She has never actually used that word about me in my presence before and I feel absurdly pleased. I smile broadly. She smiles in return. I want to kiss her for her kind words, as I feel them to be.
"Coffee?"
"Oh yes please."
"Well, more work! As you know, research gets published and we have to publish the work you have done."
"Publish? But the field work ... should ... I mean how can you keep the location of the field work confidential?"
"Confidential?"
"It was done abroad. We are Russians. Anyone reading a research paper would want to know where the field work took place. They would expect it to have been carried out in Russia. Unless the field work is to be repeated at a facility in our country?"
"Well done Vyerochka! You have been such a good investment! Of course you are quite correct and yes, your original field work is to be repeated. We will improve the experimental methods and the data collection. The exact context will be different, of course. However, at this stage, we intend to publish the experimental strategy and then during the next twelve months, we will describe the improved methods as the new experiment unfolds. Your task here today is to write up the preliminary communication."
"I am sorry to argue but surely people will know ... will recognise?"
"Who, exactly?"
"Professor ... Professor ..."
"Dawney?"
"Yes. Professor Dawney"
"Professor Dawnwey’s brain is not always the source of her own ideas."
"Oh – how do you mean?"
"Your project was originally suggested to her, by Igor Ivanovitch and Professor Dawney thought she could see potential in it. It provided her with some sort of opportunity ..."
My jaw drops. Angela had seen some sort of opportunity in this project. An opportunity to have me trained as a slave! Initially a consensual slave but how consensual would that remain as I fell deeper under her influence? And little by little she would prize me away from ... from ... what was his name? The man I used to be with?
Julia is speaking again: "so at least you know exactly where you are with us, hmmm? You are safer. Vyerochka? Are you all right?"
"Da, spaseeba, Gaspazha. It’s ... I mean, I often feel sick when I move between the world I live in now and my memories of the world I used to live in. It feels like vertigo. I do not like to go back there if I can help it. It hurts me."
"Ah, I see. Travelling between worlds. And I took you back by talking about ..."
"Yes. Please, do not mention her."
"Of course." She hugs me and I snuggle up to the warmth of her body and the sweet softness of her fuzzy hair. She smiles a satisfied smile and I feel relieved to be back safe where I belong, as their slave.
I spend the rest of the day writing up the preliminary report. It is so easy, almost as if I have done it before. The flow of the ideas, the sentence structure, the quotations in the bibliography. I write in English and Julia translates it across into Russian. Before mid-afternoon the task is complete.
My mobile rings. "Rabinya?"
"Da?"
"Alana!"
"Gaspazha!"
"Give the mobile to Julia."
"Gaspazha Julia?"
"Da."
"Eto Gaspazha Alana."
"Ah. Give it to me."
She holds out her hand for the mobile and talks animatedly to Gaspazha Alana about the birth of her baby and Vitali and about Yuri her own boyfriend – or is he her partner now?
Arrangements are being made for Julia and Yuri to visit Alana and Vitali and meet little Dmitry. I should have liked to invite Julia to my home because she is so nice but slaves do not have anything of their own. I have been given a place to live but it is not ‘my’ place and in any case, it’s difficult to entertain in a cell and what would I give them anyway? I have nothing. This is one of the sadness’s of my calling. Not being able to be generous or to repay kindness, except with my efforts and my demeanour. Those are all I have left to give.
Julia leans her head towards me.
"You are to get some ‘Baby Wet Ones’ from the Pharmacy in Chisty Purdy. (5) An account has been arranged. Just give your name when you arrive. It will be ready for you. Understand?"
"Da, Gaspazha, spaseeba"
Julia returns to her call. "Yes, Alana. I have told her. Yes, we are done. She is on her way"
Julia closes the call, smiles at me and returns the handset. I am dismissed.
The following day, Neena arrives to take me back to the Dacha. Vitali, Alana and little Dmitry are going to visit Vitaly’s parents and so, once more, I am no longer needed. I help them pack and by mid-afternoon we are ready to depart.
Before we leave, Neena imparts some news.
"A colleague of yours is doing some acceptable work at last and is more compliant. A reward is to be given. You will not let me down, I hope? Stand still! "
The Moscow house has a garage beneath it and our conversation has taken place in confidentiality of the garage. Neena hands me the leather discipline hood which I snuggle over my head and Neena closes the zips and collar strap to imprison my head until I am due for release. She has done this to make sure I have plenty of time to think about my coming duties with no distractions. As we drive to the Dacha I am left alone in my warm, dark, sweet smelling leathery seclusion, to contemplate being given to Pavea, Pavea of all people, as a sexual toy!
I am standing in one of the basement cells at the Dacha. I am still wearing my hood but apart from the hood, I am naked. My hands are strapped behind me and my legs are secured to a short spreader bar. Neena brought me here and prepped me before leaving without any further explanation.
I stand like this, apparently alone for several moments. I am expecting to hear the gloating voice of Pavea but there is silence. A hand gently begins to tease my thighs. I wince in surprise at its unexpected touch. The hand spends some moments rubbing, tickling, brushing my labia. My chastity belt has been removed but not my chastity piercings. The hand caresses them in a teasing, tickling way. My legs begin to tremble. I can feel my cunt beginning to get wet. The rubbing and tickling stop and there is silence. The hand holds my bum and I feel a tongue on my labia. The rings discourage an early attack on my inner labia and the tongue bides its time exploring me. Presently, the tongue tip begins to push between the folds of my labia between the rings. I can feel the gentle erotic stretching. I can feel my cunt beginning to drool in earnest. The chastity piercings prevent any penetration by a cock, but they do not keep a tongue at bay. The tongue takes its time. It wriggles, probes and finds my inner lips and presently, it finds my clit. The tongue spends several minutes playing there. This is such a refined torture! My body is sweating. My legs are trembling but I am nowhere near coming. The owner of the tongue must realize, as they – she as I guess it is – she continues to play slow sensuous music with my body.
Abruptly, the stimulation stops. Pavea’s voice says, "Kneel, you bitch and she slaps my bum hard!"
I kneel and she strips off my hood, laughing at how my face is covered in perspiration.
"On your back!"
I slither onto my back facing her.
"You taste good, do you know that?"
"Er, I’m not sure."
"That Neena bitch gave me just one half hour and I have just fifteen minutes left to use you, see?"
Pavea shows me an electronic timer, relentlessly counting backwards to zero. She squats over me.
"My ass! You are going to spend the last ten minutes tonguing my ass. I want to be caressed, and licked – licked right over the star-fish, mind. I wanna feel your stud – and then I wanna have a nice gentle tongue fucking. I think I’m clean but, well I just dunno exactly. Anyway, whatever. Off you go!"
I am under orders. I have to comply. Once I would have been appalled at this sort of behaviour. After the Domestics I stopped worrying. This particular defence had been washed away long ago. Then there was Neena, and how I love Neena, but Pavea?
Yet, I am a slave and slaves just do as they are told. I spend the last ten minutes of this particular servitude tonguing Pavea’s ass to her apparent satisfaction.
Pavea’s reverie and my humiliation are abruptly ended by the electronic alarm.
"Damn you!" gasps Pavea: "I was almost there!"
Seconds later Neena is with us. My legs are unstrapped and we both struggle to our feet, to stand before our Trainer.
"Pavea." says Neena brightly. "Have you enjoyed yourself?"
"Sorta", she replies. Pavea continues to be astonishingly - heroically - insolent or so it seems to me. Perhaps this is just her ‘way’. The effects of her upbringing and her culture.
Neena raises one eyebrow in reply.
"So assess your colleague, rabinya Pavea. Marks out of ten?"
I gasp: I just know what is coming: "Well, gee I suppose the bitch tried hard but she has so much to learn. I’d give her ... oh, I guess four out of ten. She needs more practice!"
"Only four out of ten", muses Neena in reply, well she has not had opportunities for sexual service recently, so I can understand that she may be out of practice but four out of ten you say? Why that leaves six marks to earn. In Russia we count in groups of five but you were, once upon a time, an American and Americans like groups of six so, six times six is thirty six! That means Vyera has earned herself thirty six cane strokes."
Neena tut tuts and slowly shakes her head at me. For my part I feel so let down by Pavea. I tired my best. I start to shed tears at the way Pavea has landed me in trouble and encouraged Neena to arrange a severe punishment for me. But Neena has not finished. She turns to the smug, smiling Pavea.
"It is a shame to waste an educational opportunity. Slaves have to cultivate a generosity of spirit. This, Pavea, is something you have to pay particular attention to. Tomorrow, you shall watch me give Vyerka a warm-up spanking and then thirty six cane strokes, one per minute. Afterwards, so you can fully appreciate Vyerka’s learning experience and to give yourself the opportunity to think more deeply about generosity, Vyerochka will prep you with a spanking and I will cane you, the same thirty six strokes! So, something for you both to think about overnight!"
.
Footnotes:
(5) Baby Wet Ones. Try TheMommyInsider for these
© Phil Lane & Freddie Clegg 2011
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