Restevac
Chapter Three
M.C. Laphar
Chapter Three
M.C. Laphar
“Get on the wall,” were the first words Donovan said when he, Nadya, and the other twotravellers returned to the ship. They had all ridden the pickup truck across the haitian border, back to Port Au Prince. No one had spoken a word. They passed the Haitian driver's residence, and the man had a worried look on his face as the three men plus Nadya stared at him. Nadya waved, and the man returned the gesture nervously.
When they reached the dock, and the ship, Donovan had silently led her to his cabin, where there were many leather belts, chains and mats. The room was very large, and swayed with the ebb and flow of the strength of the tide. Nadya had a difficult time getting to the wall, but she finally got there. She lay flat against the wall as Donovan's fingers glided over her body, not probing, just feeling for something. He felt her hips, her thighs, calves, the soles of her feet, giving her quite a giggle, her sides, her ribs underarms and shoulders. By the time he had finished his inspection, Nadya was roaring with laughter.
Donovan smiled, “Such physical beauty, such sensitivity. T'is a shame your sisters disowned you.”
“Oui,” she replied. Donovan's right hand spidered down her left armpit, she lurched to her right, and her ribs were caught by his left hand. Nadya grinned, then burst into laughter once more. She stumbled to the floor, smiling for the first time in years.
During her laughter, she could hear Donovan's soft lyrical voice. “You will find much laughter where you are are going, my child.” Nadya looked at her owner through giggles and tear soaked eyes. His red eyes were wide, but focused on her own, not wild and lustful like the lechers who visited her friend's room the previous week.
For the next hour and a half, Donovan chased the giggly young woman around the room, pinning her to the bed, to the wall, to the floor, over his shoulder, under the bed, his fingers wiggling madly over her shuddering twitching form and her eyes shut like the doors of a cellar against a storm, her musical shrieks and howls more an expression of joy than desperation.
“Do you enjoy this Nadya?” he asked her as she caught her breath, “Do you enjoy the feeling of being at my mercy?”
She inhaled, then exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, “Yes. It is the most fun I've had since I was twelve.” Donovan grinned. He placed his fingers on her hips and dug in, Nadya shook up and down, and then burst into maniacal laughter, she held her face like it was going to explode, and arched her back, slammed it back down on the soft pillows on the bed, twisted around, then arched again as another wild howl escaped her belly.
“HOHUHUHUAHAHAHAAAA!!” She bellowed. “HAAAAHAHAHAHAA!!!” Nadya's laughter echoed through all the cabins, all the corridors in the lonely ship, and bounced overboard like a pashsenger with a death wish, and danced along the waves, waltzing with the roar of the water as it slished and sloshed and crashed upon itself. And like a dancer in a massive ball, the laughter became lost in the crowd of sound.
The island was private, very large, and very secluded. It had forests, and a couple of mountains. There was a school there, there was a church there, there was a magnificent fruit farm, a river which ran throughout the island, and then there was the large house nestled in the trees. From afar it looked like a small Monopoly piece. But as one came closer to the island, one would grasp its true palatial elegance and girth.
The ship did not arrive at the island until eight o'clock in the morning. A storm was brewing and the whole island seemed deserted. The clouds to the east were growing darker by the moment, and loked almost alive as the wind built them upward and forward, so they appeared like great amorphous beasts intent on devouring all in its path, and leaving silence in its wake. The Ship took fifteen minutes to dock, weaving itself through a cave, into an underground marina. Two other large ships were inside as well, much larger than the one that was coming in. There was a great locking sound, and a shudder. Nadya woke up with a start. Donovan was buttoning his vest and he turned to her. He smiled.
“Hello my dear,” he said as he tossed her a pair of shoes. “Welcome to your new home.”
A month later Nadya sat on a couch reading a history book. Her long hair was plaited in a long braid going down her back. She wore a pair of old jeans and old white adidas, just fresh from outside in the forest, and caked with mud from previous walks in the forest. She stopped for a mometn and thought about the others who lived here. How men and women were living here temporarily, being nurtured as they hadn't been in Haiti, Belarus, Albania, Salbador, Colombia, China, Pakistan. Taught, and sent out to live in the world, with jobs that would pay well. Some of the people here didn't want to leave, they liked it there. She witnessed Dante tickling a number of the slaves he had bought. A Chinese woman, an Ethiopian woman, a Jamaican man, and a young blond woman from the United States. Nadya immediately saw that Donovan, or Dante as his true name turned to be, was not an ordinary man. As he moved, there seemed to be one version of him for each of his stark naked victims, And he seemed to relish the laughter of his victims who were chained to the walls. They were screaming and shouting and pleading from exhaustion for an end to their tickly situation but there was none. He was their owner, he would do with them what he wished. And though he owned Nadya, he didn't treat her like a mere slave, he treated her as an equal. While he tortured many of his slaves beyond their psychological and sexual limits by force, Nadya often welcomed the new frontiers; always wanted more of different things.
Dante walked in and greeted Nadya sweetly, she got up and walked over to him. She was only a few inches shorter than him by now. She had had a massive growth spurt since her situation had changed. Her hair was no longer dirty and matted, but dark and vivid with the life that healthy hair can have if cared for correctly, her teeth were fixed by a dentist in Los Angeles, California.
Her feet were pedicured, every three weeks, with much difficulty, though the servants are reluctant to do it, due to her thrashing and jerking, Nadya requested that she be bound to the chair during her pedicures. She had no intention of kicking anyone in the mouth as what happened the first time she felt a pomus stone on her soles.
Nadya hugged Dante and walked with him into the nest room. A minute passed, and then Nadya's laughter exploded from the silence like the big bang, littering the space with “Haha's” and Hoho's” and “Sacre' Bleu's” like so many stars, planets, and nebulae tumbling about the newly formed universe.
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Cana sat in the limousine and looked at the folder that had been given to her before her parents died. The folder had in it a few photos, but mostly papers with couplet poems on them. These she had figured, were what she had to decipher in order to find her father. They were quite lovely, she had to admit. She read over one.
Rothstein's harp plays beautifully, and the rains tumble down,
Fingers entangled in musical heaven; weaven souls are wound.
Fingers entangled in musical heaven; weaven souls are wound.
This was the first couplet. It had led her to a lawyer/musician named Harp Rothstein, despite her name, Harp played the piano, and she played it well. She had met Harp after a show at a quiet music club. There were people from most middle class walks of life. Some young punks, who eyed Cana as she moved past them, some old, who came to listen to the soothing melodies of the pianoforte light wafts of tobacco smoke reached her nostrils, mingled with the pleasurable scent of fresh brewed French coffee grounds A smile reminiscent of when Cana tried marijuana for the first time crept across her lips. She sat down and watched the shadowed figure upon the stage as she loomed over the piano, the master of the keys, tickling the ivories to insanity. Among other pieces, Harp had been playing her rendition of Beethoven's Quasi Una Fantasia; more commonly known as The Moonlight Sonata. It was beautiful, and Cana became an instant fan of Chamber Music after that show.
Harp Rothstein stood over six feet tall, she had the body of a dancer, and a sharp, hooked nose. Her hair was dyed black, and it matched her slimming dress which reached her ankles, and her black heels and flesh colored pantyhose. Everyone in the room was still in silent admiraton at her ability on the piano forte. It was as if she was a Goddess of music. She strode past Cana on her way out the door. She rounded a corner and started off down the sidewalk. She walked with her towering, limber form leaning forward, and a stern expression on her face. Anyone who saw her face, coupled with her height, would be very intmidated by her presence. But not Cana, who made her way out of the club and quietly followed her. The musician/lawyer. She wore a pair of light blue, ragged looking jeans, a brown t-shirt with short sleeves, loose sneakers and a backward baseball cap. She dressed like this to avoid suspicion, though no one knew her face anyway, save for the murder of her parens, and her inheritance, no one else outside of georgetown knew what she looked like, or what she was worth.
“Miss Rothstein,” she said softly. The woman stopped, didn't turn around for a moment.
“Cana...” She said, she turned to face her. “I've been wondering when this day would come.”
“Oh wow,” Cana gasped, her memory going back to one of the photographs in the folder. It was of a man in a long coat, and a woman in a similar coat. They were smiling widely and a baby was in the man's arms. The woman in the picture was standing before her!
“I remember when you were a little baby!”
“Holy...are you...my mom?”
“No no no...” she said with a smile, “I was your dad's best friend. Wow, it's been like, eighteen years....”
“I guess.”
“I remember you used to giggle and laugh all the time!” Harp shot her hand out with the accuracy of a cobra, and the quickness of the same, and fluttered her fingers along Cana's barely clothed tummy. She folded in two almost immediately and fell on her bottom, giggling like a mad hatter.
“Damn it, I'm too ticklish for this!” Cana screeched. Harp offered her a hand up, and she graciously took it.
“I hear you were with Dante,” Harp said as the two of them made their way to a cafe.
“Huh? Oh, yeah...” she felt bad when she heard the name. “You know him?”
“Know him? Heh, he's one of my cousins.”
“What? He was?”
Harp nodded, “It was sad to hear he never came out of his house.”
“Do you think he committed suicide?”
“Nah, I don't think he's dead myself.”
“You're kidding me...”
“Nope. Two reasons; did the officers, and coroners and other search parties ever find a fourth body?”
“Yep.”
“Was it male?”
“No, it was female.”
“Damn it,”
“What?”
“He probably forgot to let someone out of his oubliette.”
“You knew about his dungeon?”
“Yes.” Harp replied without the slightest hint of concern. They turned a corner.
“You figured where I was when you found I was m issing?”
“No, I knew who had you when the house blew up.”
“What's the second reason?”
“What?” Harp stopped, puzzled, “Oh, yes. He's done this before.”
“What?” Cana stopped, “He what?”
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“Dieu, oui!” Nadya screamed as Dante's fingers fluttered over her ribs, “Plus DANTE, PLUS!”
“How delicious your squeals are today Nadya,” He said as he pressed her ribs, making her wriggle and jerk her legs about. Dante straddled her on the bed while he did this. He thoroughly enjoyed tickling Nadya, she loved being driven past her limits of exertion, she loved the bondage equipment he would use sometimes; even now, she wore a neck collar she had swiped from his personal bondage set I nthe adjoining room. She would sometimes put it on just because she adored the feel of it about her throat.
Dante looked at the collar and remembered the first time he saw Nadya with it.
He had gone into the bondage room to get a long stiff feather. He was punishing the slave who had committed a grave offense, by stripping him down and chaining him on the wall. He had decided to use a feather on the young man's privates. He was interested in how quickly he could get the slave's penis to become fully erect. One of his assistants, had been tickling him after hours in her own cabin, and had told Dante about the young man's most ticklish spots. As he got the feather, he noticed the cabinet. It was closed, but being glass, he saw that among the items still there, the collar was gone. He inspected it, and then he heard the padding of bare feet. He looked up and saw Nadya, wearing a pair of black pants, a white t-shirt, and the collar around her neck. Her face was almost Elvin in its mischievous expression.
“Je pense qu'il m'adapte bien, fait il pas?” She snirked. 'I think it fits me well, does it not?'
Dante smiled, his grin was wide, exposing his sharp teeth. He liked this young lady's personality, and she liked the collar, and Dante knew it wasn't because she was a servant for so long. “Yes, it fits you better than the finest necklace.” At that Nadya slid out from the doorway and sat back down on their bed, reading a book. Occaisionally glancing at him as he left the room.
However, it wasn't all bondage and tickling. Nadya was by nature an intellectual being. Dante had no idea she spoke Arabic until he woke one morning to find her writing in a little notebook. She showed him the book, and he looked at the symbols.
“You are a Mohammedan dear?”
She nodded, “Yesr and, have you not noticed me praying?” she smiled. “I just finished praying twenty minutes ago. I just write poems from the Qur'aan for entertainment.” She continued writing, “Of course, the Book is a book of poems.”
He smiled, “How did you get into that?”
“Hmm?” she looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Haiti has a majority Christian population, and there aren't any mosques in the country.”
“Oh yes, my Mother and Father were muslim.”
“Your sisters certainly aren't living Islamically it seems.”
“My sisters weren't nice to begin with. I wouldn't be surprised if they poisoned mother and father.”
“How did they die?”
“They got ill and died.”
“What kind of illness?”
She was silent, concentrating, “Like a pneumonia.”
“I see.” he looked at the ceiling. “I see. Well, I am going back to sleep. Bonjour!” and he turned over and went back to sleep. In his sleep, he was playing out the life and death of Nadya's parents.
The two meeting, possibly growing up together, or becoming acquainted over lunch in university. Santo Domingo for sure. The two marrying, having the hateful twins first, and then later after the twins are about six, they have Nadya, Nadya takes more attention away from the two already combative, self centered egotistical children, and they begin to hate not only themselves, but also their parents, and ultimately as the chain of logic goes, Nadya herself. The parents die, and the twins, knowing full well tht Nadya knows little about the law, run off to Santo Domingo with all the wealth of the family, leaving their sister helpless and susceptible to the slavery. How dubious.
