Seduced By The Alphas Ch 13

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Risking All

I had worn his steel collar now for well over a year, today it felt heavy and uncomfortable about my neck. My shoulders ached and I kept feeling I had to hold it off my skin for some respite. To take the weight of it from me for a while, most maddening. I wished he would remove it for a while, but he would not. I need not ask, and save myself the consequences of doing so.

Master rarely 'played' with me now. I could sense he wanted to, however his sadistic and many of his rougher sexual urges went mostly unsatisfied. In a ritual of age old fascination and curiosity toward the creation of new life part of him was drawn spellbound to the changes in me. I could see it plainly, in his looks and gestures he gave it away.

Hard as he was he would often at nights in the short summer darkness place his strong, large, hands on my belly to feel the movements of the nascent life housed within. He was both giver and taker of life. While I dreamed of 'normal' things and pleasures, things that I knew with him could never be ours.

*****

Master had as was usual been drinking, he did it to the exclusion of most other things since he had lost his job and his car. Wallowing in his bad luck of late, his life becoming retrograde. I am sure he was beginning to become very costly in his habits to Mick's pocket. I wondered how long his friend would keep carrying him.

He rose from his place I followed, it appeared he was going for some fresh air. I stood looking at him mutely pleading as he unlocked the back door. He noticed me fortunately, many times he did not.

"Yes, come, put some clothes on and come outside."

I did not waste a moment, I did not want him to change his mind. He could so easily do so. He picked up the trash can and I followed him outside into what was left of the late afternoon. It was warm at least for Denmark.

I sat on the green expanse of lawn as he took the garbage through the rear gate also always locked to the dumpster in the lane way beyond. This was as close as I ever got to the outside world. In recent months its allure had become much diminished in my eyes. Was it the baby and my impending nesting instinct, or was it my expectations of life had lowered. Had I at last given in and become accepting of my station? I feared I had.

I was plucking at the small flowers that grew in the lawn, mostly violets and clover, watching him in the distance as he came back through the gateway and again locked it.

"Hallo."

The disembodied voice startled me. I looked up, I saw Master turn from the gateway, his stance aggressive. Leaning over the fence was a young fresh faced blonde headed gentleman, somewhere in his very early twenties his arms on the fence top, wearing a broad smile on his face.

"Hallo," the young man repeated. His pleasant azure eyes on me.

I smiled up at him but did not have the nerve to reply. Master however did.

"Hello." He said cautiously, his tone was none too friendly as he crossed the yard to stand next to me. I rose and nestled into his side. His arm went about me possessively.

"I'm John your new neighbor."

Master nodded I could see he was in no mood for pleasantries but he was cornered. John was looking at me intently and I felt very uncomfortable.

"Frej," he finally condescended to reply.

"Nice to meet you, and this is?"

Why did he have to notice me? Master stiffened by my side.

"My sla...... wife, Lidia." He said defensively in almost an uncivilized growl, leaving no room to even believe I would ever be available to anyone other than him even as a friend. His possession was crushing. He had not been this extreme back in the USA, although I had glimpsed shades of it. It had gotten so bad now it was almost an affliction with him. I could not imagine going anywhere in public with him these days. It was just as well I was a prisoner in his home, and saw the outside world so little.

"Very pleased to meet you Miss..... Lidia." John smiled, oblivious to my discomfort and Master's brimming wrath. He held Master there for what seemed like a very long time when in fact it was no more than a few minutes doing the friendly new neighbor niceties, speaking of nothing in particular and doing his best to be cordial. The entire episode was so innocent, however Master in his drunken perceptions did not see it that way.

He marched me inside, his fingers pressing into my upper arm leaving white marks. They would be bruises tomorrow. I was afraid before we even gained the door. He turned on me in the kitchen like a raging storm, I sunk to his feet on the torn linoleum. I had not the nerve nor the energy to take any more of his brutalities. I held on to his leg, my face to the floor and waited for his anger. He stood still above me for what seemed like an eternity. I could feel the hatred and jealous rage emanating from him acutely.

"They all want you," he rasped. "They would take you from me in a heartbeat. It doesn't matter who they are, friend, stranger or even my Brother!" He spat vehemently above me. "You lead them on, you make them want you. You incite men, you are nothing but a WHORE!" He was yelling now with not a care for who heard. Please do not hurt me I prayed.

I knelt there amid his cyclone of destruction, glasses, cups, plates and any object that was on the cupboard top he threw to the floor in a vile fury. I sat there covered in splintered glass waiting for him to stop. To my surprise he never hit me.

*****

Master sometimes used a straight razor to shave, only ever performing this act himself, obviously not trusting me to fulfill such a duty. He often told me the blade gave a more satisfying smoothness as I would stand and observe his strange manly, almost daily ritual. I have had a fascination all my life with shaving, even as a small child I felt compelled to watch my father doing just the same activity, until he would spy me, glower in disapproval of my stare, and I would hurry away.

Master had now taken my Father's place in my shaving fascination. I would gaze at him using the razor so deftly with seemingly no care for his vulnerable throat and shiver. It must be an irritating task to have to shave so often. Master repeatedly grumbled to me or anyone who would care to listen he hated it.

Though I think I would happily take up the crusade against facial hair to be in his place, for his freedoms to be mine. I again dwelt on that day in this very same bathroom I had tried to end it all, and so dismally failed.

I should have used that razor

I lamented,

not some puny hard to hold razor blade. I am sure it would have yielded much better result.

So much had transpired since that day. I was then naive and untried, now I knew him, the real him, and it was not a picture of happily ever after bliss.

It occurred to me as I stood there watching on that it had been over six months since I had heard anything from my family. The iciness and the distance were crushing realities, and on occasion it would wound me if I let my veneer down. We were never close but blood still runs deep and abandonment hurts. I felt the betraying tears welling in the corners of my eyes and the tell tale stuffiness rise in my nose. I did not wish him to see it and pushed the emotion roughly aside.

Master also may have given me an engagement ring which I never removed from my finger. However I could see it was only token gesture, he would not marry me. I don't think he had ever intended to, he had told me half as much. He would always be married even if it was just in his mind to Birgitte. My relationship with him had gone from hope to mute acceptance of his odd and cruel ways.

"Your beauty is your pride." He said treacherously with abruptness. Glancing across at me with one gleaming green eye from the completion of his shaving in the broken mirror. Most things in this decrepit home were broken or well past their prime. Though that seemed not to bother him.

He was running his strong tanned fingers over his jaw with appreciation at his newly smooth jawline. I wrenched my thoughts back to the present.

Was he telling me he still found me beautiful?

I smiled wanly at him, he had been so down and difficult of late I was only too happy to receive his compliment, if that was indeed what it was.

"I will take that pride away." He said dangerously, looking at himself in the mirror one last time.

I could not help but witness his lord like vanity, he the ruling class and I the lowly slave who could expect no more. He had nicked his throat with the razor, ruby red was slowly seeping from the cut. The color of passion, love, or hurt.

I stood there confused by his words,

what had I done? Nothing I could see.

Master had made some very strange utterances of late, the pressure of being the subject of a nationwide manhunt did not help his composure I was sure, coupled with his re surging hungry drug addiction.

I decided it would be best if I retreated and finished the laundry. Folding clothes as dull as it was would be preferable. We were home alone just as we were most days. I turned, realizing as his hand caught me firmly by the collar I had made a mistake in turning away from him. I took a deep breath and waited. He was warm and solid behind me, the nape of my neck shivered as I stood suspended in the doorway waiting his displeasure.

"I did not tell you to leave. I was talking to you." His voice was confident and laden with sadistic glee. I was already alarmed, and I could tell he was annoyed. "You should know better!" He remonstrated most viciously.

The belt slid from his waist with a sinuous sound. I cringed at my oversight, it would cost me. He slapped me across the backs of my legs, it was all I could do to keep still and not fall. Once, twice, three times. The pain was so intense I had a terrible and sudden urge to vomit, I did not at all feel well. Lately it had been very hard to handle any kind of pain, the contents of my stomach seemed ever too eager to grace the floor.

"You think this gives you immunity?" He placed one hand on my exposed belly, I swallowed and shook my head no. "Very wise answer slave. As I was saying your beauty makes you arrogant. I see it."

All I could focus on was the receding sting of his lash, the heat it generated both from the physical pain and the other kind of heat, that of my desire; and my ongoing fight with nausea. His words were the least of my considerations.

I visibly jumped as his hand reached about me and descended lower to tug on the ring below, the other one still anchoring my collar. I was moaning and wet in all but an instant. He bent me over the top of the washing machine and took his fill, as always rough and urgent. I felt like a rutting animal, no conscience and no regret in the simple act.

As I pressed down on my midsection I felt so full, the presence of the child he had sired in me, and his presence uncompromising on top and in me. This was as all encompassing as possession gets, ownership inside and out.

I looked across to see the soapy, wicked argent of the straight razor next to me on the top of the washer. Traces of his golden stubble still on it. He was pulling on my collar now, it was partially choking me only adding to further my ecstasy. It had been a long time since he had sated his lust with me in this unbridled fashion, and I found I craved it and met his every rough thrust with an equal need of my own.

This was Master of old at his unequivocal best, I had so missed him. I could feel his hardness pulsing deep in me as he came, his body going slack on top of mine and the moment was over. I had not the energy nor the inclination to move from my place.

He rested a top me for a few moments spent, heavy and hot on my back. I saw from the corner of my eye his hand straying to the open razor.

"As I was saying," he continued. He did not let me up and brought the razor to my face its coolness touched my cheek in a fleeting caress. He had always loved edgy knife play, so as long as I didn't get hurt I was up for the game. However I was somewhat scared as he as been a very odd beast of late. I really didn't know where I stood with him. Then he said something I did not like the tangent of.

"If you were not so beautiful would you be a better slave?"

The terrible question had no answer, at least none he would get from me. I lay quiet beneath him, my ragged breathing of only moments before already still with anticipation of his next move. I closed my eyes, he traced the blade under my throat lovingly, I could already tell the act was inciting him anew. All I could think of was blood, red, warm, and pure. Slaughtered animals and innocents.

The prick of steel on flesh.

"Don......" My fear betrayed me. I swallowed my single, unfinished word. His hand was now in my hair pulling me up and back exposing me to the blade.

"You slave cannot tell me to do, or not do anything." He reminded in a hoarse whisper his lips close to my ear.

My heart was beating rapidly, I could feel his long hair tracing the skin on my back, it tickled. His voice was infused with latent desire.

"What if your face was no longer so beautiful?"

The blade again coming to rest on my left cheek with menace. I went to open my mouth and thought better of it. Closing it swiftly,

he would not do it surely.

"Men would no longer covet you, they always have." He stated more for his own benefit than mine.

He had always had an issue with this and spoken to me of it often, mostly I could not see what it was he was speaking of. He often seemed so irrationally jealous, snarling at shadows.

"You slave would only exist to bear my children and be mine. I know what you are. Besides, after ten children your loveliness is no longer important. Only the desire in your heart, your ability to please me." He added seductively, basking in the power of his words.

The thought of ten children was hardly an exciting one to me. Then to my disbelief he began to press the blade into my cheek. I could feel it bite painfully into the side of my face. He had indeed cut me!

I glanced away as though electrocuted. With his act it was as though all my remaining sensibilities peeled away, he had overstepped even my most liberal of bounds, the truest most senseless betrayal. I had forgiven him so many things, so many sins, but not this. It had been a long time since I had dare defy him so strongly but I fought him nails and teeth. I could not believe he had actually done it, and I could tell he did not intend to stop at one small cut.

Somehow I was spared and slipped from his grasp, clumsily he grabbed at me and I felt the blade again bite me in the breast followed by the wet of my blood. An accident or a deliberate move? I could not say. I didn't pause he was going to disfigure me, a worse fate then merely dying as Alina had. Women were all dispensable animals to him and naught more, at last I saw it. I his devoted slave and mother of his child would not be enough to save me from his depraved sense of reason.

He was faster than I pressing past me to easily race me to the back door, standing blocking its exit. He stood there insolently large arms crossed, the blade still in his hand flexing his muscles in his powerful upper arms. I put my hands to may face in horror, they came away red. He had broken me entirely. I fell to the floor sobbing hysterically, all my fight and flight gone.

The next thing I registered was he was on the floor by me holding me. I could feel the sting of the cuts now my surprise and shock had worn off. I had held out almost five years against his constant assault on my reason and my morals. Today I gave it all up, he had at last won the battle with my mind.

"I will always want you Lidia." He whispered. No matter what." With all the seduction of a lover as he held me close. His words were sugar coated and sickening to my ears. He wanted me, yet he sought to destroy that which he coveted, I did not understand. If he had have chosen to relieve me of my life at that moment I would have gone to the slaughter without so much as a fight. Was this the point Alina had reached or Gabrielle? Tears and weeping seized me violently anew.

"Stop Lidia, stop." He had commanded, his voice vicious and overly loud, after wrestling me to the bathroom. I did not really fight him, but I was so upset I did not help him either. He propped me up on the stool before the mirror. I did not have the courage to look up to see my own wretched reflection, instead I gazed miserably at the mint green floor and the dirty stained grout that ran between the ancient tiles. The red of my blood was dripping sluggishly on to them.

Running water in the sink, he was rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He came towards me with a glass of water and some unidentified pills in his hands.

"Take these." He held them out to me.

I took them gingerly still crying. I was worried for the baby but had no voice to tell him of my fear. He held a dirty toothpaste smeared glass full of water, strangely enough the thought of drinking from it was more alarming to me than taking the unknown drugs held in my hands. He gave me no time to refuse, taking the pills from my palm and pushing them into my mouth, holding the glass to my lips.

He let me sit there until he was confident the tranquilizers had done their work, hovering just behind me brushing back my errant hair. I was too shaken to let him even attempt to do anything to me without them.

I felt lightheaded and far away, it was security of a sort. A shield to hide behind. It was then Master began to clean and suture the cut in my breast. He was good at this surprisingly, steady and neat in his work. Through the haze of the medication I can still remember him laboring over it in the bathroom tenderly. He would have made a good medic at the scene of an accident, for at this moment he was both strong and calm.

It was almost as though it was something he had not done to me himself, but rather the evil work of someone else, and he was the one who only sought to make the bad things better. Gone was his terrible mood and instead it was replaced with care and tenderness. He spoke to me assuring, as though I was naught more than a small child. I questioned his sanity that day, and mine as well.

The rest of that evening I do not remember with clarity, whether it was the effect of the drugs or just my wounded state of mind I will never know.

I lived each day now only to survive, my unborn child the only thing that drove me onward toward any kind of future. Neither Mick or Tubby made any mention or fuss of the cuts he had chosen to inflict on me. It was as they saw it his right after all. Thankfully the one on my face was not as terrible as it had first appeared, more of a scratch than a cut. I prayed it would not leave me with an everlasting scar. The one on my breast though was more severe, it was deep and painful, and did not heal as cleanly as I would have liked.

The damage done though went far deeper than that. Vanished was any vestige of love or admiration I may have once felt toward him, all I had left was a blind sense of duty. Not to him or me, but our child. I had descended to that last level, I was property, and he was the owner. I tried hard not to dwell on the possible endless years ahead I may have to spend in his company and under his stern rule.

He seemed at last satisfied with my performance, he was wise enough to see the spark was now gone. Defiance would no longer be in my retinue, and he would have nothing left to prove. He had registered in his great experience of plumbing the dark depths of human nature, he had at last broken me to his will.