I head down toward Helenka and Yuri’s room, only to be met by a big surly mountain of muscle in the form of Slavik, who is guarding the entrance to their hallway.

I try to step past him. He moves to block me.

Panic bubbles up inside me. I haven’t gotten a chance to explain anything to them. All they know is that suddenly I’m here again, and now a bunch of strangers have moved into their house.

“I need to see them,” I plead.

“Not my problem.”

An impotent rage swells up inside me, but I keep my face impassive. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how angry I am.

Bastard. Dirt-bag. Sergei didn’t tell me in person that I wouldn’t be allowed to see my cousins. He let me get all the way here, almost reaching them, before heading me off. Making a statement without words; his specialty.

“Come with me.” Slavik grabs my shoulder with his big, meaty paw and steers me away.

So I’m not allowed to see my cousins until Sergei’s taken his pound of flesh.

Slavik hauls me around the corner and down a hallway until we get to the guest suite.

Sergei looks up when I enter. Slavik shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

I don’t bother begging him to let me see Helenka and Yuri; I don’t try to tell him that they’re frightened and confused and they need me. That’s not how this game is played.

Instead, I deprive him of the pleasure he’d get from upsetting me. I keep my face completely neutral.

He is sitting on the enormous four-poster bed, clad only in his boxer shorts. Ready for me. He’s replaced the bedding, I see. There’s probably a new mattress. There was a family portrait on the wall; it’s been carved up with a knife.

“So, keeping busy?” There’s a spark of malice in his gaze.

I won’t rise to the bait.

“Sure.” I shrug indifferently. “Having all kinds of fun. For instance, I just went all Sergei on my aunt’s ass. Sir.”

He gestures at the bed next to him. I sit down.

“What that means is, she is hurting and sad and damaged, and instead of making me feel bad for her, it made me feel sick,” I say. “So I ripped her a new one and made her feel like crap about herself.”

I look away from him, staring at the wall. Why am I even telling him this? I’m bringing him my woes as if he’s a friend who will share the burden.

“Congratulations. Welcome to my world. It didn’t take you long.”

To my surprise, I feel his hands on my shoulders, massaging me. As his fingers knead my flesh, I feel tension melting from me, and a wave of pleasure ripples through me. His hands are strong and knowledgeable, sensing exactly where to touch me and how hard. Giving me just what I need. But like always, I’ll just end up aching for more.

Bitterness and frustration swirl inside me. “So, tell me, do you feel utter self-loathing every time you hurt someone innocent?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Nope.” His hands feel so good.

“Then I guess I’m not all the way there yet.”

“Give it time. You’re an excellent student.” He bends down and kisses my neck, and I shudder with desire. And I feel as if I’ve just swum through a scum-covered lake of toxic waste. There is no part of me that’s clean anymore.

He presses his lips to my ear, nips at the lobe. I stifle a whimper. His hands are still working their magic. Stroking, pressing, kneading. More. Please.

“You hate yourself right now, don’t you?” He knows me too well.

“Yes.”

“And your pussy is wet for me.”

I grit my teeth. “It is. Sir.”

“You know I will punish you now for what you did earlier. And it will hurt.” He says it so gently, so kindly.

“Yes,” I sigh, and the rising tide of desire threatens to drown me. “Do you want to call your men in so they can observe, sir?”

No. No. No. Please say no.

“No need. They know.”

I feel a great relief at that, even while I fear what he’s about to do to me. When it’s just him and me…it feels intimate. I can lie to myself, pretend we’re master and submissive, in a relationship, and he’s giving me what I dread and need at the same time.

He walks over to my uncle’s dresser, an oversized, hand-carved mahogany showpiece. Like everything in my uncle’s house, it’s ridiculously over the top. Tons of swirly scroll-work, bowed legs, topped with an enormous mirror held up by cherubs and circled with more scrollwork.

He starts pulling things out of the top drawer, then brings them over to the nightstand.

A contraption that I don’t recognize – it looks sort of like a fairy wand. It’s so pretty, I know it must be harsh. Silk ropes. And a ball gag.

“I’m tying you down because you won’t be able to keep still while I’m punishing you. And the ball gag is so that you don’t terrify the children with your screams. I know they’re pretty far from here, but the sound would carry. Tomorrow I’ll have them moved to another wing.” His cold gaze caresses me, and I shiver. “Take your clothing off and lie down on the bed. Face up.”

I am shaking as I strip my clothing off.

I look away from him as he ties me, hand and foot, to the four posts.

Then he shoves the red rubber ball into my mouth, and I make a gagging sound. He ignores it, affixing the straps to the back of my head. My jaw is stretched uncomfortably, and I feel like a fool. A clown. I can feel my saliva swishing in my mouth.

I glare up at him. He runs his finger gently along my cheek.

Then he clicks something on the wand, and it turns a pale purple color. He presses a button – and it makes a crackling sound.

It’s electrified. He’s going to torture me with electricity. I can’t help myself; my eyes widen in fear and I make a sound behind the gag.

“Violet wand,” he says. “They’re usually quite mild. I made some special modifications.”

He kneels over me, looking me up and down, contemplating. I can see that he’s hard, his thick cock straining against his boxer shorts, perfectly outlined.

I’m afraid. I’m furious. I’m wet for him.

He runs it along my stomach, and there is a long, slow line of scorching heat. It’s not actually burning my flesh, but it feels like it. It is much more painful than the whip ever was, and reflexively I suck my stomach in, trying to escape it. He just presses down harder and slows down, until he reaches my pubic bone…then stops.

I am trembling all over.

He begins drawing more very slow lines across my flesh, and it feels like he’s trailing a red-hot poker along my skin, snapping and zapping me the whole way. Every time he lifts it, there is instant relief and the horrible crackling stops – but then the beautiful, cruel instrument of torture descends again.

I cry out through the ball gag, and the rubber swallows my screams. He jabs at me with the wand, caresses me with it.

I try to writhe away from the punishing snaps.

Tears fill my eyes.

How much longer? How much more can I take?

Will he actually kill me?

He moves down to my thighs. “Don’t ever challenge me again, Pussy Willow.” He burns a hot line of pain into my inner thigh, and I struggle to move my leg away, jerking at my restraints.

“I will always win.” Zap.

“Nothing is worth the punishment that I can inflict on you. If you win, I am here to ensure that it will be a pyrrhic victory.”

He touches my pussy and I scream and writhe, arching my back, lifting my ass, desperate to escape the punishing snaps. He moves the wand and holds it there. I’m gulping and sobbing behind the ball gag.

“A pyrrhic victory is one where the win inflicts such terrible losses, it is as bad as being defeated.”

He moves up, tapping the violet wand on my right breast. I want to hold still, I want to be stoic, but I can’t. I squirm and try to shake it off. I fail. He moves it in a circle around my nipple. A ring of fire.

I fight madly against the straps, straining. I try to catch his eye. I’m shaking my head frantically.

Please stop.

He presses the wand against my other breast and holds it there.

“Do you know where the term ‘pyrrhic victory’ comes from, Willow?’’

I force myself to lie there and take the pain, and just glare up at him.

He looks at me expectantly, pressing harder with the wand. My breast is on fire with pain. He’s demanding an answer. Furious, drowning in my own tears, I shake my head. I’m glaring murder at him.

He moves the wand back down. I know where he’s headed. I shake my head harder.

No, no, no…

He shoves it between my pussy lips and turns it on, moving it up and down, and it crackles as if it were really on fire, and pain sizzles through my tender flesh.

And I’m even wetter.

The moisture of my desire oozes from me, soaking me, running over the violet wand, even as I squirm and shriek curses behind the ball gag.

Sergei’s calm gaze bores into me. “It is named after King Pyrrhus of Epirus. He won a battle against the Romans, but he lost most of his army, and his best men. He suffered such terrible losses that he declared that another such victory would be his ruin.”

And he pulls the violet wand away and sets it aside on the night table. I sob with relief as he takes out the ball gag.

I suck in huge gulps of air and scream. “Fucking asshole!”

He unties each strap, and I sit up, hugging my knees. He’s stripping off his pants.

“You bastard. You freak,” I choke out. My body is racked with gulping sobs.

“Indeed.” He looks at me with a smile. “Are you sorry now that you defied me?”

“No, you motherfucking son of a bitch,” I spit at him. “I will never be sorry for being a decent human being. I’m sorry you’re here. I’m sorry I ever met you. I’m sorry I’m part of this family. But I will never be sorry that I stood up for a heartbroken little boy.”

Instantly his face clouds with anger. He flips me over face down, bends my arm up behind my back, and brings his hand down on my left butt cheek. Hard. This isn’t a gentle love tap; I feel an explosion of pain and heat. I grunt and strain, but he bends my arm up until it’s painful and I can’t move.

“You never learn, do you?” His hand strikes me again, and I can feel the outline of his palm branded into my flesh even after he lifts his hand. “Lukas is cared for by two people who love him, and he is safe, and well-fed. He is never cold!” He smacks me again. “He is never hungry!” Another smack. “He is never afraid!”

A smack so hard I yelp and cry out.

“He never has to watch those he loves die in front of him, one by one!”

Without meaning to, Sergei has just painted a picture of his own childhood. A nightmare childhood. I feel my hatred of him seeping away. I cannot pretend to know what that would be like. I was a cossetted little princess when I was growing up. My mother loved me, my father…approved of me. I grew up in a room that would put FAO Schwartz to shame.

A final smack. “So don’t be so damn arrogant as to believe he needs you, Willow. He will be fine without you. Understand?”

My head is turned to the side, and my voice is raspy from crying. “I understand that you believe that, or you’re telling yourself that you believe that, but deep down you know you’re wrong.”

He flips me over and grabs me by the throat. His fingers close until I’m gasping for breath. “Why do you push me, Willow?” he roars. I’ve summoned a beast. There’s something very dangerous lurking inside him, straining and fighting for release, something that kills.

I lie there, stiff, not answering. He shudders hard as if battling for self-control, and loosens his grip a little.

He slides down and forces my legs open. I don’t try to fight it too much. I’m aching for him. My entire body is exquisitely tender and sensitive right now.

He puts one hand on my throat, squeezing it gently. He thrusts into me, and I stifle a cry.

This is a rough fuck, hungry, needy. He pumps into me hard, glaring at me, storm clouds raging just behind his eyes. This isn’t love. It’s conquest.

His free hand slides down to my pussy, and with every thrust, there’s a stroke across my clit and a lightning bolt of ecstasy shooting up through me. He will take everything from me. He will not allow me to control my own body; he’ll bend it to his will, make it submit to the wordless demands of his flesh.

I am almost there, gasping, ready to come – but he is too attuned to my body; he senses it and slows down.

Because he directs this show, not me.

He slams into me, so hard his balls are slapping against my ass. But he pauses between every thrust, snatching away my release each time. He sets the pace, controls my pleasure. I want to beg him to go faster, but begging never works with him.

Frantic, I thrust my hips up against his, trying to draw him in, desperate to come. I’m on fire. There’s a mountain of lava dammed up inside me.

But he just slows down even more.

So I drown in my desire, helpless, moaning at the sweet torture. Hovering on the precipice.

Finally he starts moving faster, and his harsh, guttural groans rend the air, and his eyes are glazed with desire and watching me, like a puppet-master jerking my strings.

When I come, I feel myself exploding. The sensation floods my entire body from head to toe, and I am convulsing, shuddering underneath him. I am lightheaded, almost passing out as jolt after jolt after jolt of ecstasy washes through me.

He is coming too. My orgasm always makes him come. He isn’t wearing a condom, so he just pulls out, and his hot seeds sprays over my belly and crotch.

“Yes,” I wail. I can’t stop myself. I want to scream in rage, to shout my fury to the heavens. But the shrieks that rise from my throat are all, Yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes.

I am still floating in a strange, hallucinatory other-world when he slides out of bed and vanishes from the room.

I feel helpless and weightless. I curl up into a ball and cry, wordless sobs of despair and hollowed-out pleasure racking my body.