Tortured Soul Read online

  I couldn’t get a read on him. I wasn’t sure if he was angry with me, if he pitied me, or if it was perhaps a combination of disgust and disappointment.

  “I will be your new master,” he said through gritted teeth.

  I could tell his words were laced with a certain amount of regret yet I still found peace in them. My body quickly came down from the lingering heights of panic, and my head fell forward. Braiden used a finger to raise my eyes back to his.

  “For now. This isn’t something you are going to need for much longer, but I will help you, for now,” he explained, emphasizing the “for now.”

  I couldn’t fathom ever being able to get through the day without being told what to do, but I was comforted in the fact that I still had a master, even if only temporarily. I would worry about it later when the time came.

  “I’m not particularly fond of having a girl fall to her knees every time I enter a room, so please try to refrain. I know many of your habits have been most likely been beaten into you, literally.” He had no idea. “If we can begin with reconditioning you to remain standing rather than displayed on your knees, that will be a good start. We will go over any other rules or concerns you might have later. For now, I want you to take a shower and get dressed. There are some clothes on the settee for you. I hadn’t anticipated you having nothing to wear, and we are going to be on the water for a few days. There is another female on board. Her name is Gabbie. She has loaned you some of her clothes. She’s a little taller than you, but they’ll do for now. She had a few swimsuits you might prefer to wear as undergarments, but somehow I don’t think going without will be a problem for you.”

  I rarely wore bras and panties. Master Jonas and some of his clients occasionally requested I wear uncomfortable bustiers and corsets with garters and leather. I was more comfortable without underwear. I nodded and Braiden offered me a small lopsided grin that did something funny to my heart. I liked his smile; it made him appear more youthful and carefree. Braiden’s hand moved forward as if to reach for my cheek and I winced. Not because I thought he might hurt me, his actions were too slow and careful to be brutal. I winced because I wasn’t familiar with this sort of touch any longer, and I hated any kind of skin contact with the innocent. It made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to stain anyone with my sins. When I realized my slight, I cringed further, knowing punishment would surely follow. To shy away from a master’s touch was forbidden. I forced my fear away and lowered my head like the perfect submissive.

  “I’m sorry, Master,” I barely managed to whisper.

  Braiden was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if he was considering how he might punish me.

  “I’m the one who should apologize, Em. I shouldn’t assume I can touch you without your permission, and unless it is given, I will keep my hands to myself. It is me who is sorry.” Braiden shifted slightly. “And I’d rather you didn’t call me Master. Either call me Braiden or if you aren’t ready for that yet, call me…”He seemed to contemplate his next words carefully before speaking them. “Shakhta.” It sounded like shark-ta, but it was spoken with a slight roll of the tongue at the k-ta. I had no idea what it meant, but I assumed it was some form or variation of master. I had been so focused on his title that his solemn apology suddenly hit me full force. He was sorry? He had said the word, such a simple innocuous word that warmed a small place in my heart. No man had ever apologized to me.

  “Thank you, Shakhta,” I said slowly to make sure I had pronounced it correctly. Braiden’s small grin of approval helped my shoulders relax. Shakhta, I played the word over again in my mind. I liked it even though I had no idea what it meant. It felt personal and intimate. Braiden’s eyes dipped for just a moment then quickly returned to my eyes. If I hadn’t been carefully watching him, I wouldn’t have even noticed. It was then I realized that Braiden hadn’t once looked over my naked body the way men usually did. He hadn’t leered. He hadn’t ogled. Each time I had looked up at him, his eyes had been on mine. I wondered if he didn’t find any pleasure in my body; it was scarred after all. My skin was no longer blemish free; instead it was mutilated and tarnished, just as scarred on the outside as I was on the inside.

  “After you have showered and dressed, just head through that door. There is a living area and kitchen beyond. I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you’re finished.” Braiden stood slowly and left the room.

  I remained on my knees for a long time, my thoughts tangled and clouded, until I finally succumbed to the need to clean myself. I washed often, sometimes several times a day. No matter how often I scrubbed my skin though, I was never fully clean.

  After showering, I carefully went through the few garments that had been left out for me: two simple knee length sun dresses in light cool fabrics, a sarong and a simple black bikini. I hadn’t worn a bikini since I was a teenager back in Claymont, and even then I could count the occasions on one hand. Opting to go without the bikini—any association with water made me incredibly nervous—I slipped one of the dresses over my head. The dress was a pale shade of blue that didn’t cling too tightly to my body and managed to look innocent yet feminine. I couldn’t recall the last time I wore something so simple and comfortable. I studied myself in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I looked youthful, even virtuous. My hair was still cropped stylishly short. I had rid myself of my beautiful long locks many years ago. Men liked to pull hair—they had pulled mine often—by cutting it short I had taken that away from them. Master Jonas had agreed, but only because he knew it would encourage his fellow Dom’s to get more creative with their restraints. I turned to see how visible the scars on my back were. They peeked out the top, but there was nothing I could do about them. Hopefully just the sight of the hideous scars would give men second thoughts about touching me. After standing in front of the mirror, behind the protection of the door for at least a good twenty minutes, I finally gathered the courage to leave the room.

  Stepping through the doorway, I entered the living area on the other side. It was just as opulent as the bedroom and bathroom. A large horseshoe sectional sofa filled one side of the room and wrapped around a huge glass coffee table. On the opposite side of the vessel was a large kitchenette. I found Shakhta sitting on one of the tall chairs that lined the tall, high polished granite table in front of the kitchen. He was wearing a pair of light colored cargos with a pale blue t-shirt that stretched across his wide muscular back. He was definitely one of the handsomest men I had ever seen, and I have seen many men. He was tall, around six feet. His hair a stylish shaggy cut and black as night. His eyes were just as dark with almost no noticeable difference in color between the pupil and iris. His charming looks were dark and mysterious. They frightened me—not in the same way Master Jonas had though. My former Master was evil, there was no doubt about it. Shakhta, however dark he appeared, was quite obviously honorable. He sat with me in the hospital back in Claymont for hours without even attempting to touch me. He talked to me, told me about B and Charlie. He had told me about his own security firm, and when he had run out of things to talk about, he had picked up the local paper and simply read it to me. He had shown me nothing but kindness. The way he made me feel inside confused me and having such blurred emotions made me nervous. Before Shakhta had taken me from Master Jonas, I knew my place. I stopped feeling long ago and just existed; it was easier that way. Now I had no idea where I stood or what my future held. Hope had always been a notion that I tried hard to ignore. Now it threatened to spill from my heart and flood my senses. I didn’t want to hope; it was an illusion that would only lead to disappointment.

  As I took a small tentative step through the doorway, I heard Shakhta talking to someone. Another small step forward revealed a man standing in the kitchen next to him. Their voices were lowered in deep conversation, but when the stranger noticed me he fell silent. Shakhta turned, and his eyes took a quick perusal of my body. The way he looked over me didn’t make my skin crawl with distaste though.
Where Master Jonas and his men looked at me with assessing eyes—judging my figure, my breasts, my skin—Shakhta’s evaluation seemed to be one of genuine concern. I found myself comfortable with the weight of his gaze.

  “Em, this is Larz, the Captain of ‘Utonut' Moi Grekhi.”

  I had no idea what that meant. It was obviously a foreign language, but I wasn’t about to speak out of place and ask questions. I gave Larz a polite nod. He was a big man, not as big as Shakhta and quite obviously older than him. His skin was tanned from spending too much time in the sun, and his hair was filled with a healthy dose of gray. He had gentle eyes that didn’t linger on me for too long. The mention of ‘Captain’ reminded me that we were on the water, and I cast my eyes to the windows. On my right was sparkling blue water as far as the eye could see, and to my left was an island but not exactly what I would call close. And I couldn’t swim. My eyes widened slightly in panic, and my fists clenched.

  “You don’t like yachts?” Shakhta asked, his voice holding a trace of humor as I turned back to face him. Larz had left the room so it was just the two of us now. I shook my head but didn’t elaborate. I hadn’t been granted permission to speak.

  “May I ask what you don’t like about them?”

  And there was the permission I was seeking. “I have nothing against boats, Shakhta, I just don’t like the water.” Shakhta laughed and the sound stopped me in my tracks. It was a loud, carefree sound and I got the impression that it wasn’t a sound he made often. Of the few times I had been with Shakhta, he had remained unerringly still and passive, his lips forming neither smiles nor frowns, his eyes always watching with a quiet intensity. He didn’t seem like a man who indulged in moments of lightheartedness. I could appreciate that though, since I could barely remember a time when I smiled, let alone laughed. So long ago in my foggy mind that I wondered if I had made it up. Back in the days when Claymont was my home and I was safe.

  “The two kind of go hand in hand, Em.” Shakhta signaled me forward, and I moved without hesitation.

  I didn’t trust him, but I could obey a command without fault. It was one of the many lessons I had learned with Master Jonas. I moved forward not sure what to do. Many masters required their slaves to get down on their knees, but Shakhta had made the comment that he didn’t like it.

  Noticing my hesitation, he pulled back the chair beside him. “Please sit.”

  I hesitated. I had never been allowed to sit at a table with my Master. My position was on the floor at his feet, always.

  Shakhta sighed. “It would please me very much if you would sit beside me,” he murmured, his voice not unkind, but it still held an edge of command. I climbed onto the tall chair and glanced over the food laid out before us: toast, cereal, fresh fruit, and juice.

  “Breakfast, even though it’s three in the afternoon. Dinner is a little ways off, so I thought we should just go ahead and start the day late.”

  I nodded, still hesitant. In Master Jonas’ home I was fed. I sat on my knees to his side, and as long as I wasn’t disobedient, he would feed me. I never fed myself.

  “Is there anything you don’t like?” Shakhta asked, nodding towards the food.

  I shook my head; I didn’t really care. Food was sustenance; nothing more, nothing less. I had always dined on good food, fresh food. What I truly missed were sweets. Chocolate, oh God how I missed chocolate. Master Jonas would never compromise my health with sweets. Ridiculous since he had no problem compromising my health and wellbeing in other ways.

  Shakhta buttered a slice of toast and placed it before me. Then he went about filling a bowl with cereal and placed it before me, too. Some sliced pineapple and kiwi fruit was nudged in my direction and finally a glass of juice.

  “One of everything, at least that’s the way I like to eat. You don’t have to eat it all, whatever you can manage is fine.”

  I stared at the food before me with confusion.

  “Everything okay?” he asked after taking a small sip of his own juice.

  I looked from my Master, to the food, and back at him again. Was he not going to feed me?

  “You were fed, weren’t you?” He sighed.

  Of course I was, always. The last time I fed myself...

  “YOU ARE MY SLAVE!” he roared. He towered over me as I cowered on the floor. I had just taken a small piece of potato from his plate. I had been starving, though and I hated being fed. It was beyond degrading, it took humiliation to the next level. He struck me so hard, it had sent me sprawling across the tiles. Now he was looking down on me with fury radiating so thick I could almost see it wafting off his skin. I whimpered with fear and Master Jonas kicked me hard. “KEEP YOUR FUCKING MOUTH SHUT, YOU WHORE!” He kicked me again, and I clenched my teeth so hard they ached with the effort to keep quiet. Then he was gone. I barely had time to roll to my back before he was on me again, his hand full of food. “You want food?” His voice had lowered, which scared me even more. This voice meant I was in a whole new level of trouble. He knelt at my side and stuffed the handful of food into my gaping mouth. I began to choke and cough. “A slave’s place is at her master’s feet, and she does not eat from the table. If she is lucky, he will spare her some food and feed her accordingly. Do you understand?” I spluttered and choked on the food forced into my mouth. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes and I nodded fiercely, my body racked with throbbing with pain, my throat was sore, and my heart was screaming with sorrow.

  “Em?”

  My shoulders were held in an unfamiliar grip, and the loud resounding voice of my new Master brought me back to the present.

  “There you are, Malen’kaya. I lost you there for a moment.”

  I pushed the lingering flashback away, far away where I couldn’t crumble under the weight of such a horrifying memory.

  “I’m going to feed you, for now, okay.” Shakhta dipped his head a little to look me in the eye.

  I nodded and forced myself to concentrate on my new Master. I was terrified of slipping back into another unwelcome memory. Shakhta slid around to face me and took a small piece of sliced toast, holding it to my lips. I took it graciously and lowered my gaze.

  He was quick to place a finger under my chin and lifted my eyes to meet his. “Eyes up, Em. You have beautiful eyes. I would prefer to see them.”

  The compliment slipped from his lips, floated through the air and melted into my heart. Compliments had evaded me for more years than I cared to remember—nice tits, perfect ass, tight pussy—those were the common observations I was accustomed to, but they weren’t compliments; they were made with no endearment or care behind them.

  “Baby steps, Malen’kaya. We are going to do this in baby steps. I know you need certain things now. It’s a part of how you have been conditioned to live, but I swear that I am going to give you back what you’ve lost, alright?”

  I briefly wondered what malen’kaya meant, but my thoughts were quickly replaced by thoughts of what exactly my new Master intended to give me back. I had lost so much, and a big part of me knew I could never get the moments that had been stolen from me back. I would never again have that innocence all young girls are born with. My hopes and dreams had been killed under the brutal hands of a monster. Shakhta continued to feed me, and I kept my eyes on his at all times. It almost felt intimate, too intimate.

  “In the bedroom, when you flinched from my touch, can you explain why?”

  Shakhta’s question made me nervous. I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want to displease him, but I didn’t want to lie either. Lying to your master was disrespectful and would only end in punishment. On the other hand, he might dislike my answer and punish me anyway.

  “Truth preferably, Em. I don’t want any secrets between you and I, which is how we’ll build trust. Anything you ask me, I will answer honestly, and I hope you will do the same.”

  I nodded, understanding his command. “I didn’t want to taint you, Shakhta. I’m...unclean.”

  Shakhta’s head tilted to
one side slightly in thought. “Explain,” he calmly ordered.

  “I...I’m spoiled. I’ve been d...defiled. I have sinned and it’s not only on my skin but...under it.” My voice was so low I could barely hear it.

  Shakhta’s eyes flared with fury, and I knew this was the moment where I would be punished. By the most subtle of degrees I tensed. Shakhta’s perception must have been outstanding because he quickly took a long deep breath and calmed himself.

  When he spoke, his words were careful and low, “You are not tainted, Em. You were abused, forced. That. Is. Not. On. You. Those are not your sins, and your touch will not taint others, do you understand me?”

  No, I didn’t.

  “I understand sin, Em, I understand what it feels like to be beyond redemption.”

  CHAPTER 4

  BRAIDEN

  I didn’t need her words to know that she didn’t believe me. The look in her eyes showed her mistrust. And why should she trust me? She didn’t know me, didn’t know the things I have done, the souls I have destroyed. I needed to let her in, just a little. If I wanted to gain her trust, I needed to give her a piece of me that no one else had. I didn’t want to scare her away though, so I would share just a slither of myself, just one fine layer of the many dark layers that were wrapped around my own soul.

  “I didn’t always do this, Em, help people. My childhood was unconventional to say the least. My biological father left when I was still a baby. My mother was fortunate enough to meet a man who treated her well, but outside of his family he was, and still is, a ruthless man. He was a good father in his own way; he taught me things I would never have learned otherwise. My stepfather’s business is somewhat...illicit,” my eyes were still riveted on hers, “and illegal. I worked for him, did things, bad things and I’ve reaped the benefits.” My arms opened wide to take in the lavish yacht surrounding us. “If anyone in this room is tainted by sin, it’s me. By definition, a sin is a willing or deliberate violation of moral principle, and I chose to do the things I did; therefore, I was willing. You had no choice in your life or the things you did; therefore, they don’t constitute a sin.”