Chapter 3

I don't know if I expected something more grandiose. I didn't think I had any expectations at all set for my accommodation, and yet I am still disappointed. The man who calls himself Grigorii shows me to a windowless room lit up by a single filament bulb. There's a mattress here, a large tin pan next to it, and a water spigot sticking out of the wall, with a drainage grille underneath it. This is the extent of my accommodation. There is not even a door.

My mind is still churning over the idea that after tonight, I will be losing my clitoris. A part of my body will be irrecoverably taken from me. It's barbaric and frightening and I can't even bring myself to start thinking about what he might have meant when he said 'and worse' with such an ominous tone. In the meantime, while mulling this over, I am made to strip the rest of my clothes off, then squat nude over the pan and relieve my bladder. This humiliation brings more colour to my cheeks, without a doubt, but does not manage to take my mind off more distressing concerns.

At least, until I finish urinating, at which point he calmly picks up the pan and carefully drizzles my piss all over my mattress. "I'm ... supposed to sleep in that?" I can't hide my disgust, taking a step back from the soiled bed, if it can be called a bed.

The Russian shrugs as if it has nothing to do with him. "Yes," he spreads his hands as a matter of course. "Or, you can sleep on the floor of course. Though I doubt it is much cleaner." He leans on the door-frame, tossing the empty tin back down onto the concrete with a loud clatter. "Listen Princess, you have to understand a very important fact about what this is going to be like. These next two weeks. I am going to do a lot of things to you, that are essential for you to become mentally and physically acclimatised to the ordeal you've decided to put yourself through. I am going to make you do things, voluntarily, which it is very important that you learn to do without hesitation and with either actual enjoyment or at least convincing pretence of enjoyment." His eyes wander down my nude figure, standing in front of him, all of me exposed now, even the eraser-tip-like nubs of my nipples and the large, soft areolae that cap my breasts. "But make no mistake whatsoever: I am going to enjoy this. I am going to use you to sate my urges. I am going to derive immense pleasure from tormenting you, humiliating you, breaking you and yes, especially from mutilating your beautiful body."

Somehow, though I assumed these things to be true before I ever even met the man, hearing them stated out loud breaks me once again. Tears run from my eyes and I am forced to look away, nodding despondently to indicate my understanding, too choked up to speak. To suspect that you are giving yourself up to monstrosity is one thing, but to know it and to be told it is another. Still feeling weak and shaky from my introduction to Grigorii a few minutes earlier, my mental state remains fragile. Even while I become more and more convinced that I will endure and survive these things he does to me, I also become more aware of what it will cost me. I have pledged to pay the price, whatever it is, yet I still shed tears for those parts of my humanity, my soul and my body which I am about to give away.

Most painful is that I am not even surrendering these things to the villain out there, whom I have pledged to help ensnare and bring to justice. No, that will only come later. Instead, first I must surrender so much of myself to a man who is, nominally, my ally. This is what tortures me. He will have no comeuppance for the things he does to me. At best, they will only indirectly bring me closer to my goal. At worst, by his own admission, I will give these things up purely for his own sadistic enjoyment at no benefit at all to myself.

I am still crying when I feel the Russian's calloused fingertips firmly take my shoulders and push me downwards, making me press my bared kneels into the harsh, painful concrete. I hadn't even noticed him step closer. Bewildered, I look across my shoulders. "What are you doing?"

He wipes a tear from my cheek, but only answers after first firmly bending me over forward, pushing my face and chest into the dusty, hard floor. "I am going to sodomise you," he states calmly. I see past my pendulous breasts that he already has a large, intimidating erection pressing out against his dusty old jeans, he is being completely serious.

"Why?" I croak through my tears, already afraid of what the answer will be.

"Because I am," he answers just as calmly.

The chill that runs down my spine pretty much renders me incapable of giving a coherent reply. To my embarrassment I mutter something dreadfully similar to just, "Okay..." and accept that this is happening. Not that I am given any choice in the matter, of course. I hear him unzip, I feel the warmth of his engorged manhood radiate against my bared loins. He grabs both of my wrists, wrenching my back and robbing me of any support I could have hoped for, making it impossible to keep my upper body lifted up off the ground.

I could already see from the expansive bulge of the Russian's cock that he was large in a way that I would hesitate to admit into my sex. That the experience of taking him anally would be unbearable I know for certain. Even so, I am not prepared for what comes next. It is with sheer horror that I realise he has no intention to lubricate his entrance, not even with a nominal glob of spittle. The head of his uncut prick, at the same time, is like a battering ram, hitting into my tightly-clenched anus like a fist. It does not, perhaps at first, achieve its intention of pushing my sphincter open and penetrating it, but the thrust nonetheless hurts viscerally, as if I had simply been punched in the ass. Besides my natural tightness and the clenching of my muscles in apprehension of impending trauma, the main difficulty is in the fact that the head of his cock is absurdly wide. I cannot see it, but I do feel it push apart both of my buttocks when he tries to force it in again, leading me to imagine it must be at least two inches thick but perhaps even three.

His battering ram technique is successful on the fifth try. My anus is already aching, perhaps even a little swollen from the bruising. That does not prepare me for the pain of what feels like my tight anal sphincter being wrenched and literally ripped in two by the large man's invading, gargantuan member. I instantly shriek and I feel the force of the impact drag my upper body across the floor, scraping the skin of my breasts my left cheek raw. He scarcely takes a moment to inhale again, then punches himself into my rectum a second time, getting what must be a solid three or four inches into my tight, dry anal passage in the space of one single excruciating scream. I wish I could at least endure this brutality stoically, but I cannot. My eyes water and each violation of my ass draws a new, banshee-like howl from my lips.

It is an indignity I would have tolerated more easily if he had at least had the courtesy of being brief. But he does not. The Russian pauses after what must be ten or twelve minutes. He is panting, I'm feeling nauseous and my anus is painfully swollen from the friction and stretching.

"One second," he tells me, painfully dragging the length of a solid two-thirds of his colon-destroying prick from my ass. "You're bleeding." I breathe a sigh of relief. Though I do not relish being butt-fucked to the point where blood has been drawn from my asshole, it is at least a reprieve. My ass gapes wide enough that I feel the room's cool air inside it. Again though, I overestimate Grigorii's sympathy. He fishes out some paper towels from some pocket of his clothes or something. I hear him running the tissue across the length of his cock, before it is applied with an agonising touch to my anal ring. When the warm, dry tip of his cock presses up my ass yet again, I realise what he was doing. He wasn't alarmed by the fact I was bleeding. No - he did not want my blood to act as self-lubricant. So he wiped it off and now he brusquely slides his entire member into my abdomen. Inch after inch, some eleven inches of raw, dry, thick cock impale me with agony that makes me sob into the wet concrete under my face. My mind strays into sillier territories, a part of me wondering if I will even survive this experience. Maybe that part also hopes I do not.