Submissive Desires

Twenty One

The sun blasted me out of bed the next morning. Saturday. Study day.

Andrei was out doing some early shopping, Stefan was on a call to Romania. I knocked on Sy's door.

The response was in sleepy Romanian, which made me raise an eyebrow. Andrei wouldn't have knocked and Stefan wouldn't have bothered her. "Sy?"

"Da... Come in."

I looked in. There were stockings tied to her ankles and wrists, lying loose on the bed where they'd been cut. She was sitting up, slowly and very painfully, and removing a blindfold.

"Classy I could use a hand and no funny comments please. I am so sore!"

I helped her out of bed. This was becoming a pattern, I thought.

"Now you see what those weekends were like when Andrei would pull me off campus for the weekend. You never got to see me like this." She clung to me and slowly straightened. "I was having the most beautiful dream when you knocked. I was married and we had servants and they brought me breakfast."

"Well, that's likely to come true for you someday," I said with a little smile.

"No. Andrei doesn't believe in 'hiring servants for his slave.' And that is an actual quote. He is such a perfect man, except when he is not." She took a small knife on her bed stand and began cutting away the nylon on her wrists.

"I think they are all like that."

"Yes."

"Well, I'm going to make you breakfast." I curtsied.

"Do that and I will marry you. Is polygamy legal in this country?"

"I think it's not supposed to be. I never looked it up."

"Schools never teach you what is important. I must have a shower first. You should too. I know the look of dried cum on skin."

"You get cleaned up first. Save some hot water for me." I delivered her to the bathroom and settled myself in the kitchen. "Waffles," I told the kitchen. "with strawberries and maple. Eggs, poached. Kiwi and orange slices. Chai tea, hot."

Nothing happened. Someday, I mused, we'd have better trained kitchens. For now, I got ingredients together and started mixing. Then I dusted off the waffle-maker I'd been given by Elena, who swore that it was a cursed relic of evil from her Italian grandmother, and that it had made her gain twenty pounds.

I had the preparations done by the time Sy got into the kitchen. "You cannot mean to cook all this."

"Right after my shower, and I will be fast."

I was. Three minutes, and that included washing the cum out of my hair. I could be efficient when it mattered.

"Get away from that waffle maker," I snapped when I returned.

"I wasn't doing anything. Just... confronting my fears. The way that little light glows when it turns on... so evil. It's like some baleful eye."

"It is, in fact, cursed. It was once used to cook the living hand of an Italian nobleman who had committed adultery. He died shrieking, invoking his dark gods. Since then... it has hungered for blood. Or cranberry juice, it can't tell the difference. On every new moon I take it to the window and-"

"Stop. Stories like that... nightmares. You have no idea."

"Oh, Sy. I know so many ghost stories. Some night when you are too sore to move, we will spend a few hours confronting your fears as you put in. I used to have the entire girl troop cowering and crying in their tents until dawn."