Czar Gregovivk Part 3

"Kaiser wasn't ready to have a submissive, and that brought great shame to Morgana, since she was his educator. And at twenty-four, after my father's death, I ascended to the chair before the council, becoming the new advisor of Sodom, the second youngest after Jonathan Roy. I had sex with countless women, educated submissives of various ethnicities and ages, but I never felt connected to any of them. Not once did they awaken my spirit, as my father said my mother did with him. These were always rumors circulating among the members until the day Freire appeared, presenting this idea, saying that alpha submissives could be created, shaped exactly as their masters desired.
The idea intrigued some, scared others, but in the end, it was abominated by all when she began to explain how it should be done. Girls and boys instructed from a young age to be educated, harshly disciplined, shaping their souls to be obedient and docile, accustomed to receiving punishment. And when they grew up, they would be attached to their owners, their masters. It was sickening, a terrifying idea, to imagine children being raised to become domestic animals. Mabel must have been the perfect prey, alone, already giving up on having her own home. There isn't much demand for adoption at her age. She would accept anything, thinking it would be the right thing, as she was part of the new family. They raised her confined within the nest, without influence from schools, friends her age, preparing and disciplining her until the moment to present her future arrived.
“The shot backfired.” I remain silent, lost in my thoughts, trying to connect the dots. “What went wrong in this whole dirty story, little bird…”
Mabel's black eyes shine in my mind, making me see her sitting on that couch in my office.
“This varies with the type of experience they are seeking, pleasure or…”
“Pain,” Mabel speaks softly, finally stretching out her hand to touch the sculpture.
“Yes, that too.” With every second I study her, seeing her lost, looking at the porcelain submissive Messalina, I become more curious about the strange little bird that rested in my house. “But it’s not just about pain, Mabel. A good master, in order to apply shibari, must keep in mind that the first and most precious rule is that it’s not about subjugating your submissive. It’s a game in which the woman makes a choice. No matter how tied and contained they are, the submissive has the power to stop whenever she wants; everything ends when it becomes uncomfortable for her.”
“And if she doesn’t know when to stop?” Her voice is broken, filled with fear and melancholy, matching her anxious gaze. “And if she has no control over her desires, sir?”
The stubborn bird freed itself; the pain awakened her to what her body liked, and that left her confused. Hence the instability with pleasures; there was a side effect to being educated daily to be obedient. Mabel could be a willing submissive like a perfect masochist, and that surprised me with every gesture of hers, as if her submission had been born within her, indoctrinated in a way that the others hadn’t, blinding me to what was in front of me. A dominator is born with this characteristic; it’s something that is part of his genetics; you know he was born for this. But a submissive isn’t; they need to be awakened, to understand how to live with the surrender of their control, giving it to another person. Knowing that allowing oneself to be dominated is not about subjugation, but about trust, and rarely do any of them already come like this. Their spirits are submissive, which is why they can have their dominators in the palm of their hands... The alpha submissives, as my father labeled them. But I never thought I would find one like that, not until Mabel entered my house that night, during the profane indulgences, and later in my playroom, when she responded to every erotic pain I caused her.
“Pain!” The word explodes in my head as I recall our conversation. “Damn, the desire for pain changed the course!”
My fingers go to my head as I rub it, remaining silent and trying to gather in my mind all the information I had about Mabel and her family. Mabel learned to appreciate pain, but not to have control over her limits. A dominator would have taught her.
And like crystal clear water, everything becomes clear as I remember the conversation with Sebastian, the dominator of Mabel's friend.
“Alekessandra!” The name of Mabel’s adoptive mother comes out with disgust from my lips. “She frequently hit Mabel; the bastard Nate merely unleashed what the little bird already nurtured within her when he tortured her over the entire weekend.
Mabel was not initiated by a master, but by a submissive."


***


“Did you even sleep?” The office door opens, and Sieta walks in whistling, bringing a cup of coffee.
“Do you know Nate Alkaev?” I raise my face and look at Sieta.
“That’s a Russian surname, but I can’t recall. To be honest, I don’t remember anyone named Nate, and I’m pretty meticulous about this; I’ve always memorized the surnames and names of influential families…”
“That’s because Nate Alkaev doesn’t exist.” I stand up from the chair and crack my shoulders, walking toward her and grabbing the coffee cup. “There hasn’t been an Alkaev in Russia for over thirty years.”
“And exactly who is this person that doesn’t exist?” She looks at me, confused, and closes the door behind her. “And how do you know that?”
“The man to whom Mabel was delivered when she was sixteen.” I drink my coffee and feel all the information that had been gnawing at me all night boiling in my mind until the sun rose. “I hacked into the historical record system; this family had its last living descendant thirty years ago, and then the surname faded away.”
“Christ, that’s a lot of information! What do you mean the man Mabel was delivered to?” I drop the coffee cup on the table and turn to Sieta. “You didn’t mention this.”
“Alekessandra adopted Mabel to hand her over to someone when she was ready.” I point my index finger at Sieta. “At sixteen, she was introduced to him. Mabel told me that he only touched her when she was eighteen; by twenty, he lost patience, I believe that’s it. Imagine, he had been waiting five years to finally be able to touch her for real, then he lost his composure. He hurt her, tortured her, violated Mabel; he did everything he had always wanted to do with her in one single weekend.” I grind my lips together in hatred, feeling the words leave my mouth as if they were poison. “But he didn’t count on a dominant factor.”
“Dominant factor…”
“Mabel was educated by a submissive, not by a master or a dominatrix; it was a submissive who created Miss Shot, which is why she didn’t understand what was happening to her, which is why she has no control over enduring pain.” I sit on the edge of the table and cross my arms. “Sebastian told me that in one of his conversations with Macro, the boy confided in him that Alekessandra constantly hit Mabel, and that leads me to believe that Alekessandra is a masochistic submissive. She instilled the same appreciation for pain in the little bird.”
“Freire was a sadistic bitch; maybe she asked one of her old submissives to raise Mabel,” Sieta says seriously, looking at me and nodding. “This Nate, do you think he could be some participant in Sodom using a false name? What else did you find out about him?”
“Nothing!” I take a deep breath, feeling anger about it. I spent the night hacking into every system in the United States and Russia, but I found no trace of that son of a bitch. “There’s nothing about him, no photos… The record I managed to pull up from the golf club that Mabel’s parents attended was fake. As soon as I found his surname and researched them here in Moscow, I realized it wasn’t legitimate because there are no living members of the Alkaev family.”
“But he must be here,” Sieta says hurriedly, looking at me, thoughtful. “But that’s just a hypothesis, Greg. So far, we’re working on assumptions, right? Aside from this man’s false identity, we have nothing. Alekessandra could very well just be a crazy mother trying to find a good match for her adopted daughter; you know how socialites are.”
“Alekessandra is a submissive; I just haven’t managed to find her connection to Sodom yet,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “She was born in St. Petersburg, but lived in Moscow for fifteen years before moving to New York. The same month she left, she married Mr. Shot, and three months later, she adopted Mabel. I’m sure this goes far beyond assumptions, Sieta.”
Sieta walks toward me and presses her lips together, taking a deep breath, leaving her cup on my desk.