Meet the Damaged Domme — Living with Honey and Anne, Episode 12
Anne’s yoga instructor is so tall — easily 5 feet 11 inches — she intimidates men. She’s not too easy on the ladies in her classes, either.
Dear reader, this episode contains a description of a violent rape as a part of the backstory of a new character.
Anne and Rhonda took their usual table at the juice bar after yoga. Rhonda was sipping juiced celery and avocado. Anne had carrot and mango. After a few minutes of gripes about difficult poses, Rhonda touched Anne’s hand, leaned in and whispered, “Do you think her name is really Nastya or is it a nickname she earned in the Russian army?”
“Ha ha ha. Funny, Rhonda. I think it is a real name. Diminutive for Anastasia or something. I heard she was a mail-order bride, whose ‘husband’ was into some shady stuff in Chicago. She got free of her mess and moved out here about 3 years ago.”
“That’s rough. Seems like there are a lot of us finding refuge in our little town. By the way, thanks for the perfect birthday present,” she winked.
The juice bar was busier than usual. When Nastya looked around for a seat the only ones left were at Anne’s table. “May I join you?” She asked.
Rhonda pulled out the chair to her right. “Sure, we were just having a little girl talk.”
“Thanks. Please, don’t let me interrupt. I think I could enjoy talking about something other than class sizes and fees and collections. How did you two meet?”
“Anne and I met at Back-to-school night last fall. We both have daughters graduating this spring. I had never seen Anne or Honey before, which I thought was strange since there are only 200 girls in the school,” Rhonda said. “I learned they were new to town, but that we share a lot in common, so I started inviting Anne to all of my activities. That’s how we started our yoga and juice bar habit.”
Anne continued, “Turns out the girls have almost all the same classes, so they hang out together, mostly at our place since either my husband or I are home after school most days.”
“Anne had always seemed so confident. I loved hearing her life story and how she found our little town. When she told me about how she met her husband I couldn’t believe it was for real. No one thinks that much about sex or shares that much with a teenager. When my daughter Heather showed me the psych project video Honey and Anne did, I knew I had found my mentor.”
Nastya cocked her head and said, “Care to elaborate? I’m lost.”
Rhonda shared about the experiment and then how she observed me as the subject for Miss Winter’s art class.
Nastya just stared at her juice as she listened. Then she said, “God, I want to feel a real man’s touch again; it’s been over three years and the last time I wish I could forget.”
“It might not be good to share too much where the yoga ladies can hear.” Anne said softly as she handed her a card with our address, “if you have the time, join us at my house for coffee. We can say anything there.”
Nastya considered the card for a long moment then said, “I have a few hours before my afternoon class. Are you sure you don’t mind? Let me stop and pick some items and I will make us lunch.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing your story, that’s the first step to putting yourself back together. Are you coming Rhonda?”
“You bet, we girls need to stick together. Why don’t I get some fresh fruit for dessert. See you two in about 20 minutes.” She grabbed her bag and keys, kissed us each on the cheek and dashed off to her car.
At the house, they quickly spun up a wonderful luncheon of light breads, meats, cheeses, veggies — both pickled and raw — peaches, plums and berries. They sat at one end of the table so they could each see one another’s eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind me starting my story back in Moscow,” Nastya began, somewhat tentatively. “If I don’t, I don’t know if I will make sense.”
“Whatever feels good, we will be here to listen. You can take your time, you are welcome to as many visits you need,” Anne said. Rhonda nodded her agreement.
“Da. Five years ago when I had finished my courses, I was looking for an opportunity to study abroad. I found an ad for dance instructors in Chicago. I sent in my studio photos and portfolio… I was surprised when I received a package with travel papers and a prepaid ticket just 2 weeks after a single skype interview. I was told I would be met at the airport; everything was taken care of. It was so exciting I didn’t even notice there was another name on the documents. My photos matched as did all of my identity papers: ‘Anastacya Petrova Johnson’. It was all me except Johnson.
“Somehow, my appointment included a spouse; I didn’t care. I wanted this adventure in America. Randy met me at the airport and took me to the studio. He seemed gentleman enough as he carried my bags up to my room. But after he opened the door for me, he shoved me inside and locked the door from the outside. I was a prisoner. I soon learned to what end. My husband, Randy, was a sex trafficking pimp. Thankfully, we had sex exactly one time. He was disgusting; he repulsed me.
“Every day when I awoke there was a box inside the door with clothes and a day planner page with my schedule. I was told how to dress and when to be ready. I was fed well enough and the clothes were nice, but I was always locked up or being escorted to entertain clients.
“After about a year someone bought my contract and I was suddenly divorced, I wasn’t free but I was promoted so I now got a share of my earnings and a little bit of freedom. My new partner told me I could make a good living by catering to special clients who had particular interests that required my imposing size and exotic accent.
“He set me up in a new place and remade me as a Russian Domme. It was easy money, but I never had any enjoyable sex. I was hired to yell, spank, tease, and humiliate men. in the end, it was very lonely for me.
“Eventually, I had some regular clients who seemed to like my service. They were very generous with tips. I never told anyone, but I saved every dollar so I could get away from Chicago; that was my motivation in everything.
“One day, a man who had seen me a few times for humiliation sessions asked for a special session. He paid me $2000 in advance for 3 hours. He said he wanted to be cuckolded — restrained and watching — while his girlfriend and I had sex.
“On the appointed day, they arrived together. I poured them drinks and offered them a seat on the sofa while I finished getting things ready in my dungeon.
“I returned to find her groping him so he would be very frustrated. I took her hand and helped her up and we each took one of his arms and led him to the wooden chair in the middle of the room. She undid his pants and let them fall to his ankles. I pushed him into the chair and slapped his stiff cock. She said, ‘Yeah, mind your manners Mr. Big Shot. Teach him a lesson and cuff his hands and feet, Mistress!’
“I went behind him and reached down for the shackles when suddenly I felt a sharp stick in my ass. She injected something. My knees buckled and I slumped to the floor. I was conscious, but totally paralyzed from the waist down.
“‘Let’s drag her over to the bed and spread her then I’ll let Randy in.’ The bitch! They hoisted me onto the bed and secured my wrists to the headboard then spread my legs and tied my ankles to the footboard.
“She unlocked the door and that flaming peacock strutted in. He blew me a kiss and said, ‘Look at you, Nastya, how far you’ve come. I never should have let you get away. Oh well, you and your partner have fucked me for the last time. After tonight, you’re through in this town. But before you go, I have a parting gift. She’s all yours Cyndi. Keep her busy while we find the money.’
“My eyes burned in rage as I watched Randy’s rant. I hadn’t noticed that she had undressed and put on a huge strapon, which she was now stroking and taunting in my direction.
“Randy and his shill violently upended all the furniture and opened and dumped every drawer in the place. Cyndi mounted the foot of the bed and kneeled between my legs. She licked the fingers of her right hand then slapped my pussy. I flinched, struggling with my arms, to no avail. She slapped again then rammed the huge dildo into me. I screamed as the tip hit my uterus; she slapped my face.
“She rammed me with the dildo again and again, slapping me with one hand then the other on each thrust. I soon shut down and fainted. I had had some awful sex, but never felt such pain, rage and abuse; she was brutal.
“When I regained consciousness, my hands were on my belly in a pool of sticky semen. By the volume, I guess both Randy and his accomplice jerked off on me. The door was open. A breeze blew in. The place was a mess and I was alone. I was glad they were merciful and uncuffed me. I wiggled my feet to see if the drugs had worn off. I guess I was out for an hour or more.
“I untied my ankles and rolled off the bed. I stumbled to the door and locked it. I showered, put on some warm-ups and made a cup of tea. When my nerves had calmed, I went into my private space behind a false wall in the closet. Fortunately, Randy didn’t discover it. I grabbed my suitcase and personal things. Randy was right about one thing: I was not going to stay another day.
“I picked up the mess, restoring the space to its normal condition. I took my partner’s $300 share for the booking from my purse and put it in the cookie jar in the cupboard then I texted him: Finished. Really finished. Thanks for everything, but I have to go. Watch out for that bastard, Randy. Don’t look for me. I am leaving Chicago for good.
“I turned off the cell phone and left it on the counter and caught a taxi to the train station. While everyone else on the train slept or worked, I searched brochures for places to stay. I made a reservation at a modest motel on the edge of town. I stayed there on a cash basis for about a month. By then I had the job at the gym, a legitimate income, and someone to give me a reference.
“In November, I am here three years. Safe, secure, and productive, but alone and haunted. I see almost 200 students in my classes each week. None caught my interest until you brought Anne. Then this week, Rhonda you looked different. I could tell you had found peace.
“Today is the day I decided to break the ice. I had to know what is going on with you.”
“That’s quite a story Nastya,” Anne said, “thanks for sharing with us. Rhonda had a birthday this week. Maybe that is what you noticed.” Anne smiled.
“Oh, Anne. Don’t lead her on. I did have a birthday, but that wasn’t what lifted my spirit. It was all Anne. She and her husband,” Rhonda said.
“Is this about the birthday present you mentioned as I walked up?” Nastya asked.
“Maybe,” Anne smiled slyly. “We are pretty open about sex around here. I guess you got that from Rhonda’s story of how we met.”
“Annie, do you suppose we could help Nastya the way you helped me?” Rhonda searched Anne’s and Nastya’s eyes. “We can! I know we can. The girls have their trip to DC in a couple of weeks. I think I have an idea how to do this.”
“I think I understand enough of Nastya’s story and now that I’ve seen you and your husband in action, I would like to plan this.”
Anne said, “What have I done to you Rhonda?”
They all laughed.
Rhonda whispered the outline of her plan in Anne’s ear.
“Yes. I think you may have something there. I’m game if you both are.”
After Rhonda repeated the idea for Nastya, they agreed. In 2 weeks on Sunday morning after the girls were gone they would act.
Continues with Restoring the Damaged Domme.
