Keeper [1/?]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 01:58:37 UTC
At first, Elizaveta just sat and watched him sleep. He wouldn’t be awake for a while, she’d knocked him out cold. When she came to Gilbert, it was in tears. He took her in readily and asked no questions; he knew damn well what had just happened.
It was late in the autumn of ’56. She’d had quite enough of living in the shadow of oppression. Her people had tried their hardest, she knew. But the Russians had trampled them, overtaken them, synched this noose about Elizaveta’s neck. The misery of this life made it so hard to breathe. She was so hungry, tired, sick, and scared. The only reason she hadn’t died of loneliness was because of Gilbert. The two of them had been friends since childhood, and though they’d sometimes warred, now they found themselves in very much the same place: trapped, overworked and underfed, torn from the people they loved most-his brother and her dear Roderich.
Roderich, Roderich, Roderich. There was an empty place inside her in his absence. Every day she wondered if he was okay, how he was doing on his own, if he missed her as much as she did. Every single passing moment, the loneliness and desperation and frustration in her mounted. She was a creature all of love and sexuality, stuck in isolation. Each year spent working herself to death drained her, built up more hate and anguish in her.
When she saw her people murdered for seeking a better life, it smothered out what little love still burned inside her.
So when her old friend told her how sorry he was, how he would’ve helped if he could, that she could stay as long as she liked, she heard nothing. With tears scalding her eyes she watched him talk and bustle about his kitchen gathering up what little food he had to spare for the two of them. She devoured the tasteless mush and kept staring. People often said that “misery loves company.” She didn’t just want to be miserable with someone; she wanted someone to be miserable for her. She wanted to see someone more miserable than her. She needed someone to take out her frustration on.
And Gilbert… trusted her. They hadn’t had a real, earnest fight in a long time, only sarcastic quips at best. Gilbert was far from the man he once was, weak and tired as her, and probably lonely too. So it was easy, after they’d cleared their places, for her to grab him by the hand and seize him back from the sink. He spun about and fell easily into her arms and she felt how light he was from starving when she tipped him back and pressed her lips to his. He accepted her kiss, hungry for affection, and buried his fingers in her hair. She had him. She had him. She could almost laugh if her mouth were not occupied.
From a pocket under her apron she retrieved the needle, stuck it in Gilbert’s neck and pushed the plunger down. He froze in her grip and his eyes went wide. Maybe he spoke her name, softly, before going limp, but she’d shut off her mind to his voice.
Now she sat in her basement, waiting for him to wake up. He wouldn’t be much use to her or any fun until he woke up. At her feet sat a box, waiting, some of the few personal possessions she’d been able to hide and save. Most of them were of little use to her in Roderich’s absence.
Until now.
Gilbert stirred, finally. Not much. Elizaveta had bound his wrists to his ankles, such that his ass stuck out like he was presenting to her. The straps were tight-not tight enough to cut off circulation, but just enough such that when Gilbert tugged feebly at his restraints they did not budge in the slightest. “Liza,” he said, voice slurred from the drugs which still addled his mind. “Wha’s happenin’?”
Keeper [2/?]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 02:00:52 UTC
No. She couldn’t listen to his voice, because if she heard him, she’d remember that he was her-
He was her toy, and she shook her head to clear the sounds of his humanity from her ears. Rummaging about in her box, she first drew out a little bottle. No need to break her toy. She slicked her fingers with the bottle’s contents and slid one finger up into him, getting him ready.
Gilbert cried out, and he shouted something at her, but she did not hear him.
Elizaveta cut off his words with the introduction of a second finger, followed shortly by a third.
With a yelp, Gilbert tried to pull away from her. But with his limbs bound to each other, he wouldn’t go far.
Elizaveta withdrew her hand and retreated to her little box for something else. She’d acquired it sometime early in the century during a visit to America’s place. It had always struck her as funny that of all the household appliances to be electrified, this was one of the first. They’d been done away with some decades ago which made Elizaveta all the more glad she’d taken such good care of hers. Vibrator in hand, she crossed the room, and Gilbert’s eyes were so wide she could virtually see her reflection in them from here. Kneeling down behind him, she drove the vibrator inside him and got a genuine scream out of him. She saw his fingers clench like talons and toes all curl up, limbs wrestling in vain. In no way did she acknowledge his desperation and pain. She worked the toy up inside of him with a single-minded persistence, no words, no sounds, no smiles, and no really clear thoughts. She just knew that this is what she must do.
There was one possession she’d been able to acquire for her own while in this miserable Soviet state. It came from one of the farms. She swept over to the corner, then dragged the milking machine back to where Gilbert lay gasping like a caught fish. He was babbling something-“…’Lizaveta, please…”-but she refused to listen. He was a plaything of hers now and there wasn’t anything he could possibly have to say to her. She slid the cup over his currently flaccid length and stepped back a moment to just look down on him.
He looked so pitiful and frightened, half curled on the floor, limbs and genitals trapped. He shook, his eyes were narrowed in hurt, and his mouth constantly running off about something or-
“Please, Elizaveta, stop this. You’ve always been my friend, and I love you. Let me go…”
Elizaveta froze, listening to him. Friend? Yes, friend. He was her friend.
No, no, no. She covered her ears and fled to the box, rummaged about until she found a nice, serviceable gag. Yes, this would quiet him. “No,” she said, and tried to swallow the crack in her voice. “You belong to me.”
Keeper [3/?]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 02:03:07 UTC
She couldn’t stand to hear any more of this. She kicked him in the stomach and he yelped as his breath left him. Before he could speak another word, she shoved the ball of the gag into his mouth, fixed the strap snugly behind his head.
Gilbert panted through his nose and did his best to plead to her with his damp eyes, but it did nothing to soften her resolve. She circled around his helpless body, then flipped on all the machinery. A subtle din of whirring motors filled the room.
First, Gilbert locked up in overstimulation, baring all the whites of his eyes. A sharp whine escaped his throat from behind the gag. His cock sprang to life and his hips began to rock despite himself, even as his face blanched in horror.
Elizaveta stepped back and dropped down into the chair where she’d been waiting. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and slid them down. Her right hand slipped up under her skirt, and her middle and forefinger caressed her clit. She pressed down, then ran her fingers back towards her opening. Briefly, she ran her fingertips around it before sliding back towards the clitoris again. While her rubbing sparked life in her tender flesh, what made her wet was the muffled sounds of Gilbert’s moaning and strangled sobs.
Yes, somebody here was still weaker and more miserable than her. She could still be stronger than someone else. No longer did she have to be the downtrodden one, sexually frustrated and completely alone. Now she had someone she could keep forever, who could stimulate her-someone she could keep under her feet.
Gilbert’s body quaked, and he bucked against the pulsing and sucking even as he tried to fight it. Even after Elizaveta’s work to prepare him, a little stream of red ran down his thigh. He whimpered from the agony of it, any of the remaining fragments of his pride completely lost, and writhed on the floor for want of escape.
Gasping, Elizaveta picked up the pace of her strokes. She let her fingers dip into herself just a little and she felt her own warmth. Her legs tensed and clenched in against the sensation. “Oh.” She held the middle finger at the rim of her vagina and slid the forefinger back to her waiting clit. “Oh.”
From on the hard concrete floor, Gilbert watched her. His eyes searched her, reached to her because his hand could not. None of the fire of battle or even the glint of mischief he usually carried was in them; they were dull and glassy, spoke only of anguish.
Something cold wrapped itself around Elizaveta’s heart. Her stroking stilled. That look, more than any word or sound…
With that, Gilbert’s eyes clenched shut, and his whole body seized up. She knew he was coming from the flick of his hips and the way his whole body strained.
Elizaveta removed her hand from herself and returned to her little slave’s side. When he finally fell slack, she turned off all the machines. Gilbert sighed from his nose, and Elizaveta would not allow herself to guess if it was from release or relief.
Keeper [4/4]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 02:04:29 UTC
She was not done with him, though; she’d not yet had her fill. She removed the milking machine and the gag from him, but left him plugged up for now. She separated his wrists from his ankles, though the limbs remained bound to each other, and by the hair she pulled him up onto his knees. “I’ll take it out of you,” she told him, “if you’ll lick me off.”
Looks of disgust, terror, and betrayal all crossed his face, but quickly they all faded into resigned acceptance. He bowed his head, briefly, and when Elizaveta pulled up her skirts and stood spread-legged for him, he dutifully went to work.
Already damp from the show and her own touching, Gilbert’s tongue introduced a fascinating new wetness. The tip of it dipped briefly into her, ran up between her labia and met the clit. The best part was that, hidden under her skirts, Elizaveta could not see his face nor hear anything but his lapping; he really was just a toy for her now.
Along with his tongue, Gilbert now introduced his lips, kissed and suckled at her. With the warmth of pleasure blooming between her legs, Elizaveta flexed her thighs and placed her hands behind Gilbert’s head, holding him close to her. He responded with one, hard lick from vagina to clitoris. She moaned and came, her legs tightening and fingers digging deep into his hair.
Satisfied and panting, she stepped back and went to retrieve her panties. Gilbert said nothing to her, and for this she was grateful. Grateful until she turned back around and saw him. He was doubled over where she left him, his bound hands clinging to each other, sobbing. He did not argue or shout, he had no smartass remarks, no insults, not a word for her. He only wept, and his tears ran freely down his face and dotted the floor.
Elizaveta gaped at him. Had she really broken him so completely already? The sound of his crying made her sick to her stomach. She always hated hearing the sound of a loved one crying. Loved one. Friend.
No, no. She did not love him. He was just her slave, a thing she kept to use as she pleased, and she was glad he was broken. The sooner she broke him in, the easier it would be to get him to please her. For so long as she was trapped in this hellhole, far from her beloved, she would need something to fill the void.
“Stop it,” she ordered him. “Stop crying.”
He did nothing to comply. Only bowed his head down further, sniveling, and cupped his hands to his face.
“I said stop crying!” she shouted and, sick of the sound of him, grabbed his hair and kneed him in the face.
He cried out once at the blow, then hit the floor and did the best to choke off his sobbing and be done.
When he finally quieted up like a good and obedient slave, she finally pulled the vibrator out of him and stowed it away. Before leaving, she paused to softly stroke his silver hair and wipe away the wetness from around his eyes. Even a slave deserved a little affection.
It should be time for bed now. Tomorrow would be another hard day of toil. She retreated from the cellar, made sure to lock the door up on her way out. Tomorrow, when she returned from the field, sore and weary, she could look forward to passing her weariness off on someone else. He wasn’t going anywhere. In a world where nothing was truly hers, she’d finally found something to keep.
It was late in the autumn of ’56. She’d had quite enough of living in the shadow of oppression. Her people had tried their hardest, she knew. But the Russians had trampled them, overtaken them, synched this noose about Elizaveta’s neck. The misery of this life made it so hard to breathe. She was so hungry, tired, sick, and scared. The only reason she hadn’t died of loneliness was because of Gilbert. The two of them had been friends since childhood, and though they’d sometimes warred, now they found themselves in very much the same place: trapped, overworked and underfed, torn from the people they loved most-his brother and her dear Roderich.
Roderich, Roderich, Roderich. There was an empty place inside her in his absence. Every day she wondered if he was okay, how he was doing on his own, if he missed her as much as she did. Every single passing moment, the loneliness and desperation and frustration in her mounted. She was a creature all of love and sexuality, stuck in isolation. Each year spent working herself to death drained her, built up more hate and anguish in her.
When she saw her people murdered for seeking a better life, it smothered out what little love still burned inside her.
So when her old friend told her how sorry he was, how he would’ve helped if he could, that she could stay as long as she liked, she heard nothing. With tears scalding her eyes she watched him talk and bustle about his kitchen gathering up what little food he had to spare for the two of them. She devoured the tasteless mush and kept staring. People often said that “misery loves company.” She didn’t just want to be miserable with someone; she wanted someone to be miserable for her. She wanted to see someone more miserable than her. She needed someone to take out her frustration on.
And Gilbert… trusted her. They hadn’t had a real, earnest fight in a long time, only sarcastic quips at best. Gilbert was far from the man he once was, weak and tired as her, and probably lonely too. So it was easy, after they’d cleared their places, for her to grab him by the hand and seize him back from the sink. He spun about and fell easily into her arms and she felt how light he was from starving when she tipped him back and pressed her lips to his. He accepted her kiss, hungry for affection, and buried his fingers in her hair. She had him. She had him. She could almost laugh if her mouth were not occupied.
From a pocket under her apron she retrieved the needle, stuck it in Gilbert’s neck and pushed the plunger down. He froze in her grip and his eyes went wide. Maybe he spoke her name, softly, before going limp, but she’d shut off her mind to his voice.
Now she sat in her basement, waiting for him to wake up. He wouldn’t be much use to her or any fun until he woke up. At her feet sat a box, waiting, some of the few personal possessions she’d been able to hide and save. Most of them were of little use to her in Roderich’s absence.
Until now.
Gilbert stirred, finally. Not much. Elizaveta had bound his wrists to his ankles, such that his ass stuck out like he was presenting to her. The straps were tight-not tight enough to cut off circulation, but just enough such that when Gilbert tugged feebly at his restraints they did not budge in the slightest. “Liza,” he said, voice slurred from the drugs which still addled his mind. “Wha’s happenin’?”
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He was her toy, and she shook her head to clear the sounds of his humanity from her ears. Rummaging about in her box, she first drew out a little bottle. No need to break her toy. She slicked her fingers with the bottle’s contents and slid one finger up into him, getting him ready.
Gilbert cried out, and he shouted something at her, but she did not hear him.
Elizaveta cut off his words with the introduction of a second finger, followed shortly by a third.
With a yelp, Gilbert tried to pull away from her. But with his limbs bound to each other, he wouldn’t go far.
Elizaveta withdrew her hand and retreated to her little box for something else. She’d acquired it sometime early in the century during a visit to America’s place. It had always struck her as funny that of all the household appliances to be electrified, this was one of the first. They’d been done away with some decades ago which made Elizaveta all the more glad she’d taken such good care of hers. Vibrator in hand, she crossed the room, and Gilbert’s eyes were so wide she could virtually see her reflection in them from here. Kneeling down behind him, she drove the vibrator inside him and got a genuine scream out of him. She saw his fingers clench like talons and toes all curl up, limbs wrestling in vain. In no way did she acknowledge his desperation and pain. She worked the toy up inside of him with a single-minded persistence, no words, no sounds, no smiles, and no really clear thoughts. She just knew that this is what she must do.
There was one possession she’d been able to acquire for her own while in this miserable Soviet state. It came from one of the farms. She swept over to the corner, then dragged the milking machine back to where Gilbert lay gasping like a caught fish. He was babbling something-“…’Lizaveta, please…”-but she refused to listen. He was a plaything of hers now and there wasn’t anything he could possibly have to say to her. She slid the cup over his currently flaccid length and stepped back a moment to just look down on him.
He looked so pitiful and frightened, half curled on the floor, limbs and genitals trapped. He shook, his eyes were narrowed in hurt, and his mouth constantly running off about something or-
“Please, Elizaveta, stop this. You’ve always been my friend, and I love you. Let me go…”
Elizaveta froze, listening to him. Friend? Yes, friend. He was her friend.
No, no, no. She covered her ears and fled to the box, rummaged about until she found a nice, serviceable gag. Yes, this would quiet him. “No,” she said, and tried to swallow the crack in her voice. “You belong to me.”
“Elizaveta, why?”
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Gilbert panted through his nose and did his best to plead to her with his damp eyes, but it did nothing to soften her resolve. She circled around his helpless body, then flipped on all the machinery. A subtle din of whirring motors filled the room.
First, Gilbert locked up in overstimulation, baring all the whites of his eyes. A sharp whine escaped his throat from behind the gag. His cock sprang to life and his hips began to rock despite himself, even as his face blanched in horror.
Elizaveta stepped back and dropped down into the chair where she’d been waiting. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and slid them down. Her right hand slipped up under her skirt, and her middle and forefinger caressed her clit. She pressed down, then ran her fingers back towards her opening. Briefly, she ran her fingertips around it before sliding back towards the clitoris again. While her rubbing sparked life in her tender flesh, what made her wet was the muffled sounds of Gilbert’s moaning and strangled sobs.
Yes, somebody here was still weaker and more miserable than her. She could still be stronger than someone else. No longer did she have to be the downtrodden one, sexually frustrated and completely alone. Now she had someone she could keep forever, who could stimulate her-someone she could keep under her feet.
Gilbert’s body quaked, and he bucked against the pulsing and sucking even as he tried to fight it. Even after Elizaveta’s work to prepare him, a little stream of red ran down his thigh. He whimpered from the agony of it, any of the remaining fragments of his pride completely lost, and writhed on the floor for want of escape.
Gasping, Elizaveta picked up the pace of her strokes. She let her fingers dip into herself just a little and she felt her own warmth. Her legs tensed and clenched in against the sensation. “Oh.” She held the middle finger at the rim of her vagina and slid the forefinger back to her waiting clit. “Oh.”
From on the hard concrete floor, Gilbert watched her. His eyes searched her, reached to her because his hand could not. None of the fire of battle or even the glint of mischief he usually carried was in them; they were dull and glassy, spoke only of anguish.
Something cold wrapped itself around Elizaveta’s heart. Her stroking stilled. That look, more than any word or sound…
With that, Gilbert’s eyes clenched shut, and his whole body seized up. She knew he was coming from the flick of his hips and the way his whole body strained.
Elizaveta removed her hand from herself and returned to her little slave’s side. When he finally fell slack, she turned off all the machines. Gilbert sighed from his nose, and Elizaveta would not allow herself to guess if it was from release or relief.
Reply
Looks of disgust, terror, and betrayal all crossed his face, but quickly they all faded into resigned acceptance. He bowed his head, briefly, and when Elizaveta pulled up her skirts and stood spread-legged for him, he dutifully went to work.
Already damp from the show and her own touching, Gilbert’s tongue introduced a fascinating new wetness. The tip of it dipped briefly into her, ran up between her labia and met the clit. The best part was that, hidden under her skirts, Elizaveta could not see his face nor hear anything but his lapping; he really was just a toy for her now.
Along with his tongue, Gilbert now introduced his lips, kissed and suckled at her. With the warmth of pleasure blooming between her legs, Elizaveta flexed her thighs and placed her hands behind Gilbert’s head, holding him close to her. He responded with one, hard lick from vagina to clitoris. She moaned and came, her legs tightening and fingers digging deep into his hair.
Satisfied and panting, she stepped back and went to retrieve her panties. Gilbert said nothing to her, and for this she was grateful. Grateful until she turned back around and saw him. He was doubled over where she left him, his bound hands clinging to each other, sobbing. He did not argue or shout, he had no smartass remarks, no insults, not a word for her. He only wept, and his tears ran freely down his face and dotted the floor.
Elizaveta gaped at him. Had she really broken him so completely already? The sound of his crying made her sick to her stomach. She always hated hearing the sound of a loved one crying. Loved one. Friend.
No, no. She did not love him. He was just her slave, a thing she kept to use as she pleased, and she was glad he was broken. The sooner she broke him in, the easier it would be to get him to please her. For so long as she was trapped in this hellhole, far from her beloved, she would need something to fill the void.
“Stop it,” she ordered him. “Stop crying.”
He did nothing to comply. Only bowed his head down further, sniveling, and cupped his hands to his face.
“I said stop crying!” she shouted and, sick of the sound of him, grabbed his hair and kneed him in the face.
He cried out once at the blow, then hit the floor and did the best to choke off his sobbing and be done.
When he finally quieted up like a good and obedient slave, she finally pulled the vibrator out of him and stowed it away. Before leaving, she paused to softly stroke his silver hair and wipe away the wetness from around his eyes. Even a slave deserved a little affection.
It should be time for bed now. Tomorrow would be another hard day of toil. She retreated from the cellar, made sure to lock the door up on her way out. Tomorrow, when she returned from the field, sore and weary, she could look forward to passing her weariness off on someone else. He wasn’t going anywhere. In a world where nothing was truly hers, she’d finally found something to keep.
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So, I apparently have a giant kink for Prussia bottoming hard.
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I didn't think she could hurt him like this and still be psychologically stable--so she HAD to be detached.
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