Although I think this belongs in the BDSM category (everything here is clearly consensual, making Non-consent/Reluctance inappropriate), a comment has made me decide it's worth flagging up that this story is not in the world of loving or lifestyle BDSM, but is a fantasy around the wholesale capitulation of a needy and weak submissive to a manipulative and cruel dominant. If you don't like the sound of this, please don't read it!
This will make more sense if you have read the preceding parts.
And thus began the second phase of my time with Karsh - what I called my double life.
Double, in that most of the time, like that first evening, I was acting the part - sort of at least - of a normal person, but at the same time, all of the time, I was his helpless whore, a willing victim of his greedy and cruel desires.
This double life was forced on me - without him ever explaining it - because he clearly expected me to behave at all times like a normal person; without any hint that there was anything more to my role than being a dogsbody assistant, until it occurred to him that he wanted to use me in some other way - at which point he required me instantly to change mode.
So, that evening, I had somehow to fold up and put away until later all the jagged, conflicting emotions stemming from those unbearably intense minutes: the rape, the discovery, Karsh' shocking punishment of Ninotsch, my own sudden understanding of my being somehow Karsh's possession - all of it had to be firmly and resolutely suppressed, as I rushed up to my room to gather what I would need to present myself at a high-end casino-restaurant.
To say I was dealing with a cauldron of emotion would be an understatement - so many conflicting feelings, so many powerful and contradictory urges. Nevertheless, it was clear what trumped them all - a fierce joy that Karsh wanted me to be at the dinner - wanted me to look good, would buy me clothes, that I would be with him.
The inescapable, sharp conflict of the double life hit me powerfully only a few minutes later, when I came into the hallway to get my outdoor gear, only to find Sergey there already. The last time he had seen me I was half-naked, obviously having just disengaged myself from Ninotsch's unwanted fucking (although come to think of it, he had no way of knowing then whether I was being raped or was a willing partner). But then again, what had Karsh told him when he had run out, or while I had been upstairs?
I faltered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, tried for cool, tried to act as if nothing had happened - at least as if that moment of revelation was not something to be acknowledged, but I had reckoned without Sergey being Karsh's son. His version of Karsh's stare, which I had never experienced before, was nowhere near as unsettling or merciless as his father's, but made it crystal clear that whatever he had thought of Timmy the chalet girl before - and he had always been friendly in a polite way - he now considered this Timmy - the one whose pussy he had seen all pink and puffy from recent fucking - as a sexual being, and one that he had little respect for, but nevertheless found sexually interesting. He was smiling at me with a sneer that burned.
And after all, he was right; what had I become, those few days ago - some sort of slut, some sort of whore, a wanton? It had been my choice. If I had not let Karsh use me like that, Nino would never have felt so confident that he could simply fuck me without permission. Sergey was right, and I knew it.
Nevertheless, here came Karsh, wanting to know if we were ready, telling us the helicopter would arrive in a minute or two. Karsh saved me; his requirements were clear, and strong, and I was instantly, deeply grateful - I didn't to have to rely on my own confused instincts; it was simple, just do what Karsh wanted. Be what Karsh wanted me to be.
Simple doesn't of course, mean easy, and sitting in the helicopter, feeling Sergey's eyes on me (and not daring to look up to see if this was actually true), feeling that he was looking at me now as some sort of sex object, that he knew something, something at least, about what had been going on with me, that was truly awful, made my stomach churn. Worse still, the reality that I had no way of knowing exactly what he did understand about my position - had his father told him anything? Everything? Some half-truths? I had no choice other to sit and endure, however excruciating, however humiliating.
But not just sit and endure, for the other side of my double life was also present. I was in a helicopter with Karsh, and he too might be looking at me. Strange that I would be happy to know that he was looking at me with just the same thoughts as Sergey's - I definitely wanted Karsh to know that I was wanton for him, that I was happy to be his sex-object - so, far from holding my body in, making myself drab, trying to make myself non-sexual, uninteresting, in the hope of deterring Sergey from looking at me that way, I was determined to make myself attractive to his father.
The balancing act of that helicopter ride was, in one way or another, my reality for the following months - wrestling with the insoluble problem of, most urgently, enticing and inviting Karsh' greedy usage of my body, without embarrassing him in public, but equally without enduring any more of the bitter shame that being a degraded slut brought with it than could be avoided.
It was, of course, Karsh' masterful manipulation of me and of such situations that meant I never once got past the idea that this triple impossibility was my responsibility - that it was my own stupidity, weakness and sluttishness which kept me constantly pulled in different directions, constantly failing, constantly castigating myself for getting everything wrong. That Karsh himself was simply a violently passionate, greedy and fatally fascinating man, with whom I had become obsessed due to some character flaw.
The reality - that it was me who was the naive simplistic, passionate one, and that Karsh was the driver of all this - simply never occurred to me, not for months and months.
For Karsh never appeared to be doing very much about me; mostly, it seemed, his interactions with me consisted of smiling and laughing at me, clearly seeing my trouble - the look in his eyes sympathetic and friendly - but mostly just entertained, offering no help at all beyond that - not taking my agonies, my embarrassments, my troubles at all seriously (and, by extension, not taking me seriously - and of course, since I was already convinced of my own fundamental lack of seriousness before I met him, this fed my own inner weakness oh so very neatly).
The whole evening was like that; sitting in the restaurant, in my expensive and sexy new dress (which I loved and was in awe of, not really knowing how to carry it off) with Sergey and Marina and a couple of Karsh' staff who were staying in the town, trying to live up to Karsh' expectations (without in the slightest knowing what they might be), dampen down Sergey, and give the staff (strangers to me) no excuses to despise me.
And all the time having no idea what any of them really thought of me. My only comfort the knowledge that Karsh wanted me there, that Karsh had enjoyed buying clothes with me, insisting on coming into the dressing room of the stupidly expensive boutique he chose - it being so close to closing time there were no other customers, and the lady Patronne clearly knew him and would have done anything to keep him happy, so that I stripped and dressed in front of him several times as he chose lingerie and dresses for me, spending I don't know how much but clearly a great deal, judging from the glow of pleasure on la Patronne's otherwise flinty face when we finally left.
