Christabel.  

Half-naked and cold Christabel stirs from her induced slumber. The icy cold steel frame that has been her cage for the past two days sways side to side as the ship ploughs through the waves. She is at sea. 150 nautical miles from the St. Petersburg harbor to be precise. The skin on her back itches. As she attempts to outstretch her arm a loud clang echoes in the container that will be her home for the next few months. She has been shackled. Right arm and left leg immobilized. A faint thud and clang can be heard in the distance. She is not alone. 
Christabel: Kto tam?

Angela: I don’t understand you?

Angela has a thick accent. Thick like the women from my homeland. (Luhyas hoye!). It sounds like something out of the middle east maybe. Israeli possibly. Her voice gentle and timid. Her origins unknown. She too was a victim. A victim of the same man. Wooed and mislead. Lied to and now held captive. 

Christabel: What is your name? Where are we? 

Christabel has a deep voice, almost masculine yet still feminine. Seductive in a way. The type of voice that could persuade a man into changing the deeds of his estate to her name. She too has an accent. Not as thick as Angelas’ but it can be discerned by a keen ear. I have a thing for Russian accents and beautiful voices. 

Angela: My name is Angela but my friends call me G. I have no idea where we are. I was on a date and now I wake up here… In this thing.

She spoke slowly, articulating every word. Disgust enveloping her voice. 

Christabel: My name is Christabel. I don’t know whether I even have friends anymore. 

The door creaked open and a beam of light streamed in illuminating the hollow container occupied by two prisoners and a few crates of vodka. Triple distilled of course. Their bodies covered in dirt and grease. Both wearing matching bras and panties. Christabel going for lime green. A bold move. Angela adorned a red pair. Keeping it simple. They both clearly had other thoughts in mind when they set out on the night of their doom. Long flowing blonde hair fell from Christabel’s scalp to her shoulders, more spilling over to her a back. She was a vision to behold. Big baby blue eyes that pulled you in deep. High cheekbones with a sprinkle of freckles on both sides. I know perfect is an abstract concept but her facial features were nothing short of perfection. To top it off a slender frame with long luscious legs. She must have stood at least 5 feet 11 inches. 

Igor:  It is time for the feeding. Look alive.

Igor pushed a metal bowl of semi-liquid broth toward Christabel with his leg. Alligator shoes laced his feet.

Eat or die. Either way Igor was already paid in advance. It is what we call smart business. No. ha ha.

What I can say about Igor. If you have ever seen a movie with a Russian as the bad guy that is Igor. The accent on this man is unmistakably from the home of tripled distilled vodka. He is a big man. A big man with a big belly that spills well over his snake skin belt. Bald. I would ask him whether he is naturally bald or is just a big fan of Michael Jordan but small men like myself don’t bother big men with such questions. If they are wise that is. He has an appetite for blood and fast money. I bet he killed the alligator and snake himself. The Russian mafia will do that to you. Build you up and make you feel untouchable. Hubris sets in. It is a long fall from there. His laugh is what you could consider maniacal. Short and far from hearty. Igor is a sociopath. A sociopath in the business of human trafficking and prostitution.

Christabel: Where are you taking us? Why are you doing this?

Igor moved closer and stooped low. He held Christabel by her chin with his large rough hands. Hands that were so filthy with sin no amount of water and soap could wash it clean. 

Igor: The destinations are many. No? World tour we go. Hit all the big cities. London. Paris. Hong Kong. Make Igor money with these lips.

 He moved to kiss her but Christabel wasn’t having any of that. She bit his lip. Splitting it open. The first drop of blood drawn. Literally. Christabel 1 Igor 0.

Igor: ha ha. I am liking you more. 

He sucked on the blood and swallowed. Savoring the flavor. Christabel looked like a rabid dog. Snarling and tugging on her shackles. She spat at his face but missed. Narrowly.

Christabel: Go suck a dick! 

Igor: That will be happening soon. That mouth needs better use. I will teach. No? …Yes. Igor knows how to break people. I will break you.

He clenched his fist into a ball and made as if to strike her but stopped as she braced for impact. Wincing with her big baby blue eyes shut. There was madness his eyes. The cogs of his cynical mind turning in over drive. He walked out slowly. Slamming the door behind him. He would be back. 

Let me take you to where it all started. The beginning of the end. A beautiful little café by the river Neva on the northern side of the city of St. Petersburg. Christabel sat upright with perfect posture her legs crossed on top of each other exposing her thighs just enough. Clad in a dress straight off Ralph Laurens’ summertime collection. A floral piece that transitioned effortlessly from sexy and sassy to happy and flowing. She sipped on white wine as she waited for her date. Looking to the sky occasionally to see what animals and faces the clouds were making. It was their second date but she wore a pair of matching bra and panties just in case. He was running late. Well if he ran he wouldn’t be late so he must have been walking slowly taking in the sites. St. Petersburg is beautiful. Rivers canvassing the city splitting it into sections. Each section comprising sprinkles of refined architecture and old stone buildings. Boats of all colors and makes slowly making their way up and down the canals and rivers. 

Vitali: I am so sorry. I lost track of time. I had pressing business. 

Vitali pecks Christabel and pulls his seat close to hers. He smells of cigarettes and expensive cologne. She loves it. They met a month ago at an underground party. The type of parties where everything goes. Ecstasy, LSD’s, cocaine. The type of parties that are only known by the who’s who. Vitali took body shots off her toned tummy and a line of white powder off the small of her back and here we are, a month later. He told her stories of his time in the Congo assisting UN aid workers and his schooling in Oxford and Cambridge. A linguist, having mastered 8 languages is the reason why he spoke with no accent at all. A well-travelled young entrepreneur with a passion for the wild side of life. Vitali made prince charming look like a chump. A fat chump with no class at all. 

Christabel: You are lucky I am not a petty woman.

Vitali: What would a petty woman do?

Christabel: she would take a sip of wine and toss the rest in your face and walk away as punishment for your tardiness.

Vitali: That sounds like the actions of a woman who escaped a mental institution.

They both laughed. The date went well. She was wooed. He was charming as always. They went out that night and Christabel wakes up 54 hours later in a cage on water. Angela’s story was eerily similar. Her man went by the name Adrian. The two men has the same height build and charming personality. Ladies and gentlemen if it walks like a duck, acts like a duck, and quacks like a duck they must be one and the same person. Where is my Sherlock hat? Watson, I have cracked another one. 

They had been targeted because they were easy marks. They loved to party and the recreational use of drugs. They had been drugged. How ironic. Igor is on his way back. His size eleven alligator boots making the floor boards earn their pay as they bear the full weight of a man that is only a few pounds short of 400. Clang..raap…ding…the door had been unlocked. Round two.

Igor: Have you been missing me? Yes ?.. Feeding time again. I bring bread.

In his hands, he had two loaves of bread and a long black whip. A whip that had a small serrated blade at the tip. He threw one full loaf at Angela and brought the other to Christabel. Towering above her he unbuckled his belt.

Igor: Bread not appetizing? I will feed with cock. You try anything funny, friend gets whip. 

Christabel looked at Angela and made a face that said ‘Im sorry.’ Igor dropped his pants to the floor. He wore a red pair of underwear. They are called briefs I believe. Like the ones mothers buy for their young sons. Dear future mothers don’t buy those for your kids they are not cool at all. I lost a bit if respect for Igor right there a big man with a big belly wearing briefs. TSK!

Igor: Bring mouth here. It does not want to eat. I will give work.

He held Christabel by her chin and forced her mouth open. He is a strong man. he forced himself into her mouth and motioned forward and backward. Christabel’s eyes turned mad with fire. Crimson flames burning as she grew more assured of what she was about to do. She waited until he was fully engorged before she sank her teeth deep into his manhood. Right at the base. She bit with all the force her jaws could muster. Igor let out a cry. A faint roar from a wounded lion. Whatever pain he felt he deserved. Still, he is a big man. One punch and lights out for Christabel. She would wake days later at the first stop on a long unforgiving journey Christabel 2 Igor 1.
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been four months since I started this blog. Thank you for reading and following. Like my stuff if you enjoy. Leave a comment and most importantly share. If you have something you want me to write about hit me up on my email. cliffdanielito9@gmail.com  

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