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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2012.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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The Hot Coffee Incident
by Arsomnia (address withheld)

***

Kidnapped and enslaved in a brothel run by the 
mysterious Cartel, Arwyn learns a hard lesson in 
obedience at the hands of Dmitry. (MF, nc, rp, v, tor, 
bd, prost)

***

Author Note: All characters are over the age of 18. 
Story based on role-play done at the Human Trafficking 
Mansion of Second Life.

***

Arwyn sighed and lay back into the plush cushions of the 
couch she was seated on. All around her were the dull 
sounds of idle chatter, glasses clinking, and, of 
course, moaning. Such were the normal sounds of the 
Mansion she had to call home. Not by choice, of course - 
she had been taken from her previous life as a law 
student by force.

The Phoenix mafia had felt threatened by her, which was 
particularly odd - she had never reached a rank of power 
and was only an intern with a state senator who opposed 
them. However, she had been poised to quickly go into 
the city council upon her graduation, which was only a 
month away, and help push new gaming restrictions and 
close loopholes which had allowed the mafia to operate 
relatively unopposed.

Of course, those plans were ended when she was taken and 
sold off to an organization only known as the Cartel, a 
nefarious group which dealt in human trafficking around 
the world, setting up whorehouses of kidnapped girls in 
loosely regulated countries. Their extensive list of 
clientele, almost all male, would pay top dollar for the 
chance to have their way with those women. 

This was all just background information, things she 
knew but didn't spend much time thinking on. What Arwyn 
was concerned about was her survival within one of the 
tropical Mansions operated by the Cartel. Her last six 
months here hadn't been easy.

Warily, she eyed the men moving in and out of the main 
sitting area which she currently occupied. Most were 
either heading into the bar in the next room or had a 
girl on their arms already, which reassured her. With 
luck, this could just be another quiet night.

Luck was rarely with her, and after a few minutes of 
peace, the front doors swung open and a new man stepped 
in. Arwyn's eyes went to him right away, sizing him up. 
He was tall and pale, with a heavy brow over deep-set 
eyes, made even more prominent by the thick black rimmed 
glasses perched on his nose. Like most of the men, he 
wore a dark suit which was paired with a white dress 
shirt and red tie. 

The tailoring was impeccable, indicating that it was 
quite expensive, perhaps even custom made. His chestnut 
brown hair was short and spiked up, and he looked 
relatively young, perhaps in his mid to late twenties. 
Most interestingly, he also walked with a slight limp.

As the man approached, her eyes went away, face bored. 
She picked at imaginary dirt set under a nail and barely 
cast a glance in his direction. Of course, the man, who 
was called Dmitry Kolmogorov, was not deterred by her 
lack of interest. He was used to whores who had no 
manners, and had made sure to teach those in the most 
painful way possible when he travelled to various 
mansions across the world.

"You, girl. Get up, come here." His voice had a very 
heavy Russian accent, blue eyes set on her.

Arwyn rolled her own dark brown eyes, sniffing in 
annoyance. So much for a nice, easy night. After looking 
at him with a kind of "What, you mean me?" expression, 
she finally stood up slowly, haughtily, and moved over 
to him.

"What?" she asked, looking to be between boredom and 
annoyance.

"Vhat? Is that how you address me? Vhat is your name?" 
Dmirty asked, a look of annoyance on his face.

"Arwyn," she responded shortly, a similar expression of 
contempt on her own visage.

He shook his head, arms crossing over his chest. God 
damn, he needed his coffee.

"I vhant coffee, and none of that Maxwell House shit. It 
better be good."

Shrugging, Arwyn brushed past him and moved into the 
busy bar area. A few men sat on stools in front of the 
polished wooden bar, and one girl was behind it, 
topless, pouring drinks. Arwyn never really listened to 
the rules, particularly the whole 'take your shirt off 
before going behind the bar' one, and moved around the 
back without removing the clothing she wore.

The other girl, a petite blonde, smiled, briefly making 
eye contact before turning back to flirt with the client 
she was attending. That girl was one of the slaves, the 
ones that behaved themselves and followed all the rules 
of the Mansion, that wouldn't dream of fighting a client 
if they didn't want to do something. The slaves got 
preferential treatment over the prisoners like Arwyn, 
but she didn't care. In Arwyn's mind, the only thing 
worse than rape would be consenting to it, and she 
refused to give in.

Reaching under the bar, she pulled out a white mug made 
of thick plastic. They rarely ever allowed glass here. 
All of the bottles, glasses, plates and spoons were 
plastic to keep the girls from getting anything too 
dangerous.

Arwyn eyed the coffee pot sitting nearby. She had just 
made it a half-hour earlier, so it was still fresh. As 
she went about pouring the dark, bitter liquid, Dmitry 
took a seat in front of her, tapping his fingers against 
the bar impatiently and assessing the girl. She was 
pretty, even for a girl with an attitude problem - long 
black hair and dark skin, with high cheekbones under 
slightly almond-shaped eyes, her body all legs.

"How do you want it?" Arwyn asked, snapping him out of 
his focus.

"Black." Dmitry responded quickly, taking the mug from 
her. He eyeballed the mug before waving a finger at her. 
She hadn't removed her clothing, which did annoy him a 
bit, but that would be fixed soon enough.

The pungent smell of the dark roasted coffee rose to his 
nose, and he took a sip before gagging, spitting it out.

"VHAT!? You call that shit coffee!? Are you trying to 
poison me?" Dmitry yelled, his face red with rage, 
slamming the mug down on the counter in front of her. 
That stupid whore, she had screwed up something so 
simple, something to calm his nerves!

Arwyn was taken aback by his reaction. She had just made 
it a little while ago, and the beans weren't cheap. She 
knew the Cartel didn't stock cheap coffee, just like 
they didn't stock cheap liquor.

Rising from his seat, Dmitry started at her from across 
the bar, his hand reaching out to grab the collar of her 
shirt, fully intending to drag her across the bar. 
However, he never got that far. In the moment that he 
stood and reached, Arwyn had grabbed the coffee cup. Her 
own face twisted with anger, she had flung the boiling 
hot contents at his chest, cup and all.

Dmitry let out a scream as the coffee hit him, sudden 
heat blistering his skin and staining the shirt and 
jacket he wore dark brown. He fell back into the stool 
and onto the wooden floor. In that instant, Arwyn took 
off running. Out through the main living area and up the 
spiral stairs to the second floor, she fled from the 
man. Hide, hide, somewhere to hide... Her heart was 
racing as she heard a roar of anger from behind her.

Dmitry rose to his feet, his chest having gone from hot 
and painful to cold and wet rather quickly. Under his 
shirt, his skin was bright red, but it didn't feel 
burnt. Instead, a dull, mute anger was building, rage 
collecting up through him. He knew only one thing now: 
that girl would pay.

Pulling off his jacket, he bounded out of the room and 
up the stairs, hindered slightly by the limp in his leg.

"Arveeeeen, VHERE. IS. SHE!?" Dmitry yelled as he came 
up onto the second floor.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced around 
the room and spotted a familiar figure standing by the 
windows. Arwyn hadn't been able to find a very good 
hiding spot and instead was standing tensely with her 
back to him. She had heard him approach and knew this 
wasn't going to turn out well.

Moving toward her, he licked his lips. At that instant, 
before his rage and affronted sense of dignity had begun 
to operate, he felt only a numb, throbbing excitement 
and the knowledge that this, this would be good.

Arwyn was scared shitless. She could feel the pain 
coming a mile away and knew that she had screwed with 
the wrong psychopath this time. Yet she was scared 
enough that she started to smile, then laugh as the 
prospect faced her. Turning around, she looked at him 
with a wide, loopy grin, laughing once more, just 
staring at him like a crazy woman. This perturbed 
Dmitry, who let out a loud, dinosaur-like growl and gave 
her a glare that could strip the paint off of a tank. 
The laughter was like a buzzing insect against his ear, 
annoying, but, for a moment, slightly disturbing.

"Vhat is the joke?" he asked, approaching her more 
closely, brow wrinkled.

Arwyn didn't respond, continuing to giggle instead, 
little bits of desperate-sounding laughter echoing up 
from her. As she laughed, he pulled his belt from his 
pants, staring at her before slapping it against his 
hand with an abrupt shock, much like a wet towel.

"I vould suggest you show some contrition instead of 
laughing like a crazed hussy," he growled, watching her.

Arwyn's eyes fixed on his belt as soon as it slapped 
against his hand, her face falling a bit, stopping dead 
mid laugh.

Fear sunk in as she eyed him, mouth hanging open 
slightly. She didn't say anything, but began to edge 
away, looking for an escape. She couldn't run all night, 
but she did have the advantage of speed in any case.

"H-h... hi," she said in a rather shrunken voice, eyes 
flitting over the floor and seeming a bit small 
suddenly, realizing she really wasn't in a great 
position here.

The shrinking only edged Dmitry on. His thumb played 
with the belt in his hands as he spoke to her.

"I suggest you follow me into this room," he told her, 
indicating a nearby door. "I hear, though I of course I 
do not have any personal knowledge, that it is more 
comfortable than the basement, vhich may be our next 
stop if you do not get some...sense."

That was enough to get Arwyn to move a bit closer to 
him. She'd had enough bad experiences with the creatures 
that lived in the basement to avoid trips there at all 
costs. The monster which lived there was... most 
unpleasant.

Dmitry beckoned Arwyn over with a curl of ogrish fingers 
and began to move backward toward the intended bedroom, 
keeping an eye on her movements throughout.

"Come."

He cracked the belt as if to punctuate the command: 
There was just something about the sound of the belt as 
it swooped through the air, crashed across the nearby 
chair and fell to the ground to slither back, dragging 
on the floor before he raised it again to his hands. It 
made for a terrible song.

Arwyn stayed well behind him, away from the nasty 
looking belt he was holding and lashing out with. She 
didn't want to come in contact with the end of it, 
though she probably would soon enough.

She stared away from him as well as she could, not 
wanting to get caught in his gaze. Feet dragging a bit, 
she very slowly found her way into the room, standing 
back, almost across the room from him, moving back and 
forth uneasily.

Observing her distance, Dmitry spoke calmly.

"Take off your clothes. And vhile you are at it, an 
explanation of why you hit me is in an order... and vhy 
you vould serve me with such vile brew."

He was a tyrant, a tyrant with a velvet foreign-
inflected voice, it was true, but undeniably a tyrant... 
A tyrant who seemed to be more interested in the latter 
question than the former.

"Vhy such vile coffee?" he repeated as he locked the 
door with the keypad beside it.

Understandably, Arwyn was terribly nervous by this point 
and uneasily began to undress. She had started to learn 
not to trust men with nice accents around here, and this 
one was confirming her suspicions. Unwinding the scarf 
she wore from around her neck, she watched him lock the 
large doors, cursing to herself. Trapped, great. 
Starting to unbutton her vest, she raised an eyebrow to 
him, watching.

"The coffee was what was in the pot and what we serve 
everyone here. I didn't make it, I just poured it," she 
lied, before adding, "If you wish, I can track down the 
horrible coffee maker and slay her for your honor." 
Okay, the last part was obvious sarcasm, but she was a 
smartass, albeit a very frightened smartass.

Dmitry 's annoyance now rose in prodigious quantity and 
kept spreading, sending out tentacles to all his limbs 
like an enormous amoeba absorbing him and his sense of 
reason.

"Lies," he hissed. "YOU tried to poison me with that 
disgusting filth, with that black vomit." He approached 
quickly and reached with the beltless hand for the stalk 
of her neck. "I vill not listen to lies."

As he came closer she flinched, amazed that he was still 
angry over the coffee. She hadn't realized coffee was so 
important to him. She liked it too, but it wasn't worth 
this much anger. To her, this was another sign Dmitry 
was clearly disturbed. She leaned back a bit away from 
his hand, but wasn't fast enough for him.

"It's just coffee!" she yelled at him, brow furrowing.

Using the grip around her neck Dmitry forced Arwyn down, 
grinding her down his flank, situating her so that the 
side of his body sliced the center of her front - 
breasts and sex - down the slabs of muscle and finely 
tailored clothing. As he forced her down, she gagged for 
air, the pounding of her heart only making her oxygen 
evaporate more quickly, becoming needed more 
desperately.

One hand guided her like a collar about her neck, while 
the other held the belt and at the same time pressed a 
coffee-flavored thumb to her lower lip. It was hard to 
resist biting his thumb at that moment, but the belt 
prevented her from doing something so regrettable. 
Instead, Arwyn gritted her teeth and made sure he 
couldn’t wiggle any filthy fingers into her mouth,

"You think this is about coffee?" He laughed. "This is 
not about coffee. It is about respect. It is about 
perfection. It is about attention to detail. It vas a 
failure of respect and that...is not forgivable."

With that he released her again.

"I told you to undress."

Instead of following commands, Arwyn narrowed her eyes, 
shaking her head a bit. It wasn't like she could undress 
very well from this position. However, that was the 
wrong answer for Dmitry. He frowned, pulling her head so 
she was looking up at him, then spat, a long trail of 
yellowish spittle flowing from his lips to her cheek. 
The mucous-like trail of liquid moved in slow motion as 
if through molasses, landing warmly on Arwyn's face. As 
it came close, she winced and tried to put her head 
down, but to no avail. He leaned down and began to rub 
it into her cheek, as if he were trying to erase her 
face, making her gag.

"That is vhat I think of the coffee, that is vhat I 
think of you. That is vhat it is going to be like unless 
you hurry and take off your fucking clothes before I 
lose my patience."

She began to take off her shirt, using the opportunity 
to wipe her face of the disgusting dribble. Well, that 
shirt was ruined now... Of course, she didn't have a bra 
on under it. Not wearing one made the ones who were 
sticklers for the rules at the bar easier to please - 
there was less for her to take off then.

An instant after she had it off, Dmitry took a hold of 
her neck once more, grabbing and yanking her upward by 
it. Arwyn choked, trying to breathe correctly, but 
finding it more and more difficult as she rose to her 
feet before him. Dmitry ground his leg into her cunt and 
breasts, reaching down to her lower half with the hand 
holding his belt. His hand released her neck as he spoke 
in the same rough tone.

"Off. You vould not vant me to do it."

Carefully, she moved to lean down, hoping his grip on 
her neck would ease up a bit in the process as she went 
to untie her shoes and kick them away, then eased down 
the jeans across her hips, leaving her naked except for 
the cuffs a Cartel trainer had locked onto her wrists 
and ankles to make it easier to control her when she 
became difficult, as was too often the case.

As soon as she had finished, Dmitry's attention snapped 
back onto her. His hand once again found her neck, and 
he began to walk into her, forcing Arwyn to back up, 
away from him, and toward the St. Andrews Cross in the 
corner of the bedroom. She stumbled slightly, eyes stuck 
on his, only stopping when she bumped into the padded 
backrest of the cross.

Dmitry released his grip and began to lock in her cuffs 
to the St. Andrew's bindings. This time, Arwyn didn't 
resist. She knew there was something very painful 
coming, and wished to keep that potential pain at a 
minimum. Fumbling with the restraints, he muttered a 
Russian swear under his breath as he positioned her 
facing forward on the device.

Now restrained and without a chance to run away, her 
heart started to pound. She was stuck again, literally 
in a corner without a chance to get out. As he watched, 
she tugged at the chains a bit before speaking.

"I-is there anything I can do to make this less 
painful?"

It was pathetic to ask and only elicited a sharp, cruel 
laugh from Dmitry. He grinned in a wolfish manner, 
slapping the belt lightly against his hand.

“Vell, vhat do you have in mind?” he asked, and then, 
before she had a chance to answer and with the practiced 
skill of a man who had tortured scores of girls in more 
than a few brothels, hell, on more than a few 
continents, Dmitry brought the strap flashing out of the 
subdued light of the bedroom to explode across the 
girl’s breasts. As it hit with a loud slap, she cried 
out in pain, the leather leaving a long, red stripe 
across her chest.

"I am all ears." The grin never left his face, watching 
her suffer, watching her writhe on the cross before 
bringing it down once more. His voice seemed almost 
bored, casual as he beat her.

"The customer is alvays right? Is it not one of those 
inane American sayings transported across the globe? But 
have I heard apology? Have I heard begging for 
forgiveness?"

Again and again, the belt visited her breasts, stinging 
them and turning Arywn's flesh a bright red. Each time 
the belt fell, his lips curled up into a sneer of 
satisfaction, and each time she screamed. Her breasts 
burned with the promise of later welts and bruises. 
Finally, when she could bear no more, she yelled out at 
him,

"Stop! Stop, please! No more!" That wasn't probably what 
he wanted to hear, but at this point, that was how she 
tended to plead with the men.

Even as her voice cracked with the pain, he laid a few 
more strokes across her stomach. His passion was 
heightening with every gunshot-like crack of the belt. A 
feeling of virility seemed to surge through him, and his 
balls were heavy with lust. The belt fell once more, 
bringing with it one more scream, then retreated to his 
side.

"I vill stop because it is unfair to other clients to 
see a marked slave. But if I do not hear apology? I vill 
pay the management vhatever is necessary and then you 
vill see that I am not only not only inexhaustible, but 
endlessly inventive, a banquet of tortures. So vhat will 
it be?"

After the beating was said and done, tears had begun to 
fill Arwyn's eyes. She looked back at him through 
reddening eyes, her jaw quivering lightly. Finally, a 
sob broke and she began to apologize to him in earnest 
fear.

"I'm sorry for the coffee being bad and hurting you! 
Please, it's not my fault! Please stop hurting me!" 
Arwyn sobbed, a few tears rolling down across her 
cheeks, leaving tiny, salty streaks in their wake.

Dmitry lowered the belt and raised a coarse hand that 
squeezed her forcefully-proffered left breast roughly, 
while his thumbnail scraped at the delicious bud at its 
center.

"It is not your fault you struck me?" he asked quietly, 
dangerously.

"N-no! That's my fault! I was stupid and bad, please 
stop hurting me!" Her jaw was shaking, letting out 
little screams of pain as he squeezed her sore, reddened 
breast.

Dmitry released her nipple, unclipping the cuffs around 
her ankles one at a time, and raised them toward the top 
of the St. Andrew's. He then looped the big belt around 
the girl’s neck, drawing the loop through the buckle and 
closing the thick leather strap tightly around Arwyn’s 
throat in a relaxed chokehold. As he did this, her eyes 
bugged, instantly frightened. He wasn't going to kill 
her, was he? Strangulation, especially in this helpless 
of a position, was not the way she had envisioned her 
death. Luckily, he didn't draw it tight enough to 
restrict her breathing. Keeping one hand on the belt, he 
unzipped his pants.

"I vill enjoy this and you VILL act as if you enjoy 
this." He tugged on the belt to make sure the words 
connected. Quickly, before he felt the need to tug the 
belt in further, she nodded vigorously. She had to be an 
actor for now.

Dmitry was satisfied with her nod of assent. Tilting at 
her cunt, forced himself into the passage in one foul 
movement, as if wanting to force her into the cross, 
into the wall, into the earth.

"I am Dmitry Kolmogorov. You vill remember my name. You 
vill remember how I like my coffee, my newspaper, my 
music, my vomen, my fucking."

He stared long and hard, a cruel hand digging into the 
tender cones of her breasts while he jack-hammered his 
way into her deliciously tight channel. The steely grip 
on Arwyn's heart only tightened with each thrust, fear 
spreading over, covering her like oil on water. She 
never wanted to encounter him again, becoming as afraid 
of him as she was of Erebus, the Cartel trainer who had 
raped her of her innocence on arrival at the Mansion, 
who had earned her obedience only through her fear. That 
was how it worked with her - either a man had to respect 
her or make her afraid to bring any amount of obedience 
out.

Now she had to figure out how to appear to be enjoying 
this enough to satisfy him. Just as this thought crossed 
her mind, she felt his hands on her breasts, squeezing 
the painful mounds as he lunged into her even harder, 
burrowing himself in to the balls as his pelvis seemed 
to move in three directions at once -- in slow, sensual 
circles, from side to side, and more quickly forward and 
back, milking his maleness with a sexual artistry even 
as he thrust savagely deeper and deeper.

"Beg for my cock."

Arwyn's face was knit into a grimace which she was 
actively trying to turn into something resembling 
pleasure. That wasn't working too well, and she didn't 
respond to his command. Begging was beyond her abilities 
at the moment, and her head shook. Dmitry's hawk-like 
eyes fixed onto her face, pulling the belt tighter as 
desperation entered her eyes.

"I vill. Make you. Vibrate like an orchestra of strings. 
Vailing in agony and pain." Another tug. "That is not 
some famous Russian poet. That is Dmitry Kolmogorov and 
I alvays make good on my promises."

Again and again Dmitry drove his dark-veined cock into 
her lewdly-available cunt, his tender, lust-filled balls 
smashing against the soft curves of her ass, watching 
her face move as she attempted to process what was going 
on and respond in a way that wouldn't make things worse 
for her.

Still, she could almost feel his words deep inside her 
chest, pounding straight into her heart. Arwyn did her 
best to put up a general look of pleasure, a forced 
smile, a grimace, not wishing him to repeat this scene 
another day, though she could imagine it happening now 
that he had noticed her. 

"Please give me your cock," she whispered, barely more 
than a breath, her grimacing face an extremely bright 
brick red.

Dmitry glared down, bullet cool in his eyes but heated 
within his chest. His voice raked into her bones as he 
pressed onto her.

"Yes, that's right. Say it after me, little girl: 'I am 
a sveet sheath for your cock, Sir Dmitry, a vessel for 
your most base desires. Fuck me.'"

Arwyn winced, her heart aching with the feeling of being 
dominated. She enjoyed it occasionally, but he was 
hurting her deeply, wounding her rather strong pride. As 
he stated the orders, she shuts her eyes, not wanting to 
experience his expression as she recited after him, and 
then paraphrased his words, whispering very quietly.

"I'm a sheath for your cock, vessel for your desires... 
Fuck me." Her face was the color of the burgundy carpet 
and the saturation dial was still going up as blood 
filled her cheeks.

Dmitry ran his strong hand all over the girl’s reddening 
breasts, not squeezing now, rather delighting in the 
softness of her skin and the plucky resilience of her 
overheated tits. He was close to the end.

As his hands became more gentle, running over her chest, 
exploring and enjoying her skin, Arwyn peeked at him. 
The tension built in his body just as it did with most 
men she had experienced here, and she knew the end was 
soon.

Feeling his cock pulsing, throbbing, expanding painfully 
and demandingly, he grunted, “ARRRGH.” Suddenly, with a 
deep thrust, and in an explosion every bit as 
spectacular as the fireworks shows of his native 
Russia’s Neva River, he came, hot spunk sent flying 
inside her. As he did, she released a long, pent-up 
breath, relaxing.

Dmitry withdrew, spent, his body still positioned over 
her, lodged in between her thighs. He paused a moment, 
then trickled a rain of sensation down the girl’s ribs 
as his fingertips skirted the bulging base of her 
breasts and scraped over her belly. Staying still, she 
began to breathe more normally, knowing it was done. His 
cock pulsed once more, long and broad, but soon grew 
flaccid. He zipped up his pants, removing the belt from 
her neck and returning it to his waist.

The extra tension held throughout her was slowly 
released once his belt was removed, and she looked up at 
him with shrewd, careful eyes. The last few touches 
didn't bother her much.

Finally, he unclipped her cuffs from the chains 
fastening her to the cross and Arwyn pulled herself off 
of it, body sweaty and slightly slumped over. Dmitry 
eyed her, then nodded, letting out a low hiss.

"Vell. Ve have learned our lesson, yes? Ve vill be 
goot." With the final unsnapping of the binds, he said, 
"Ve vill find the answer next time. For now, you may 
go."

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," Arwyn replied.

Moving to the door, he unlocked it, and almost as soon 
as it was opened, Arwyn rushed over. She looked up at 
him, cowed, speechless, then left with her tail between 
her legs, just glad to be getting out of the same room 
as him.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 72