Horrified, I shook my head, staring at my father maneuvering the table with large handles I had seen on an exercise machine.
Uncle whispered again. “You will, when you learn that they like it.”
I slid past him and pressed my back against the hallway wall. “But, but, she is crying, Uncle.”
I didn’t understand why he laughed at my statement. “‘Crying uncle’. This is truer than you know.” He gently tugged on my shoulders. “Yury, the time will come when you will understand this is a game. There are winners and there are losers.” He pulled me back to the doorway, forcing me to see Marina now unconscious but the act still taking place, Father’s arms sweating as he worked the long handles. Uncle asked, “Does he look like the loser?” At that moment, my father roared his release.
I tried to escape, but Uncle held tighter. So, I stuttered, “B-But, what about her?”
“Who is more important, your father or some stranger? The one who provides for you or some шлюха?” шлюха means slut in Russian.
Natural Instinct: the act of survival.
In my case, it came at all costs.
Who had kept me alive thus far was the man, now spent and bent over the unconscious woman while he struggled to catch his breath. His sweat dripped onto her naked back and shoulders. Opening his eyes toward his bedroom door, he saw us… and smiled. “The шлюха slept during the end of my upper body work out.”
My innocent head tilted. “She is only sleeping?”
He stood, giving a swat to Marina’s ass. “She has had a long day of training herself.” After putting on trousers, he leaned to the side of the table, made a clanking noise, and then one long handle was maneuvered to lean in the opposite direction. He repeated the steps. The other handle now matched. “But her day is not over yet.” He grabbed an item from his dresser then walked toward the front of Marina. He ripped open the small paper packet the size of a quarter before holding it under her nose.
She suddenly jolted awake, frantically peering around. As soon as she recognized who was standing in front of her, she started to sob, almost choking on the ball in her mouth.
Father grabbed her chin. “We have company, so best behavior,” he shrugged, “or I will teach you a lesson.”
Terror crossed her face before she did her best to gain composure, nodding her silent promise to obey.
“Good little pet.” Father unbuckled the leather at the back of her head then slowly pulled the ball from her mouth. Marina moved her jaw back and forth, trying work out strained muscles. Father chuckled. “Yes. Prepare your mouth.”
She froze.
He gestured to us in the doorway. “My brother is your next… tutor, Pet.”
Uncle left my side while unbuckling his slacks. “My nephew is worried you do not like your training.” Marina looked to the burgundy carpet his shoes were crossing then to him as he stood right in front of her face, stroking his flaccid penis. “I told him he is wrong.”
As his erection grew, her eyes closed before she whispered, “I enjoy my training, Master,” then obediently opened her mouth.
The days began to blur together after that misguided lesson. It became common occurrence to see ‘delivered packages’, watch them cry, and then witness their disappearance into the basement only to return weeks later completely different. Broken and obedient. Some were trained for whatever fetish had been paid for, then taken away and delivered to the purchaser. Some slaves became entertainment for family members and employees. Never were there any outsiders in our home. The slaves for entertainment and employee benefits were always mostly naked and on their knees, waiting to be told what to do next. The instructions ranged from “eat” to “suck this”. Slaves were allowed to make no decisions for themselves.
It is disturbing to what one can become accustomed to.
A year had passed, lessons were learned, and Father and Uncle eventually lost interest in Marina and found pleasure in new ‘pets’. Pets would go hungry unless someone else fed them, which always came at a price. As slaves, they had to earn everything, including baths. Oral sex for clean water was an everyday occurrence that did not seem absurd at the time. And there were plenty of guards to volunteer for the daily chore. In fact, it was surprising to have the house completely quiet, with no slave being trained in my presence. That’s why, when alone in our kitchen nook reading a History book for my homeschooling, I was startled to hear a stomach growl.
Marina was mostly naked, sitting in the corner with her bent legs tucked underneath as trained. A gold collar was around her neck with a gold chain leash hanging between her bare breasts. A matching chain was wrapped around her thin waist and through her legs to represent underwear that left nothing to the imagination. Her tan skin made the gold shine, catching my attention. Gold was for special events, or, at least, that is what I saw slaves dressed like before sent off to a human auction or being delivered.
From the table, I asked, “Marina, are you hungry?” Her eyes quickly looked around to see if any other male was in the room. No slaves were permitted to talk to me without a family member present. I explained, “Uncle and Father are at a business dinner, and Kirill is in the basement.” Her eyes met mine, so I asked again, “Are you hungry?”
Ever so quietly, she replied, “Yes… Master.”
Surprisingly, my chest boomed with pride. I had never been the one in charge. I had never had the opportunity to have say over someone else. And, for some unknown reason, I liked it.
I collected a block of cheese from the refrigerator, cut a chunk into pieces, and grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter. I was too young to cook, nor had I ever been taught, but I was not going let the one soul who gave me control over her go hungry. I would take good care of my… pet.
Back in my seat, I mimicked the men in my life. “Come.”
On her hands and knees, she scurried forward then sat at my feet, her legs properly tucked underneath her, her hands in her lap. I pulled a piece of bread from the loaf and held it out. As trained, she did nothing until instructed.
“Open your mouth.”
The woman took the order from my eight-year-old self, possibly too hungry not to.
I was shocked at the sight of her tongue. Until now, I had seen everything from a slight distance. With no one around, I felt daring and touched her tongue as I placed the bread there.
Not closing her mouth or chewing until given permission, she watched as I studied her. The bread started to soak in her salivating mouth, but I held back from allowing her to chew. Instead, I touched around the food she was dying to swallow, enjoying my first glimpse of control over my own life while stealing someone else’s.
No one asked me if I wanted to live like this, with naked women in my home for the amusement of perverted family members. No one asked me if I wanted my mother murdered, or if I wanted to find her mutilated body. So, my finger explored Marina’s mouth because it was finally my choice to do so.
Some opportunities should be denied.
As if witnessing me cross the line of innocence and slipping into the same delusion as the men who raped nightly, my pet’s eyes filled with a sadness I wouldn’t understand or care about for years to come.
My legs were too short for my feet to even touch the ground, yet I felt I had the right to order about this human who was starving and neglected.