Restevac (Sequel To The Giggle Collector) (M/F F/F)

[Journia]

If you enjoyed the last adventure, The Giggle Collector, featuring Cana Fadruthiya, you'll enjoy this story as it includes a new cast of characters with some old, and some unknown.

Restevac
M.C. Laphar
​

The house was a small one, but nonetheless a happy one. It was two floors, with small windows, and two doors, one in the front and the other on the side, to the left. Five people lived in the house. A father, mother, and three girls. The mother and father died one day, and left the three girls alone. Then one by one, the sisters died. Their bodies were taken away by total strangers. And then as the last of them began to thin, began to tremble, and lower to the floor of the house, the strangers came and took her by the hand, dragging her across the floor, splinters digging in her back, blood trailing behind her, to the door.

As they left the house, she could feel the stones and glass in the yard as she was raked over the ground. She cried, kicked and screamed for help, but no one was there, no one in the world. And then they stopped, the strangers were faced by another stranger, and he spoke to them in a foreign tongue. It was always the same, a language like the snakes use. And they'd converse for a few moments, deliberating, and I always ended the same, the new stranger would always win, and it'd approach the fallen child, and reach down to her. As its hand approached her, everything would grow black, and it was the fear of the darkness which always brought Nadya out of her sleep, screaming like a soul being dragged to Hell.

Nadya is a very dark brown young woman, she has long dark hair which isn't kept up well. Her feet are encrusted with dead skin, and her toenails are almost ingrown. Her physique is slim, and attractive, though her teeth are yellowed and decaying. Her head has a tapered quality to the chin, and her nose is small, slightly round, but not to the point of being ugly. It's just right.

No one comes into Nadya's room because they know she has night terrors, they've gotten used to it enough to sleep through her screaming And in the morning, they'll beat her within an inch of her life before they send her out to do errands. And then come home and clean the house. Such was the life, since she was nine years old, of this Haitian slave.

The ship cam in the night, and docked in Port Au Prince, four men left the boat secured in the dock. They wore black suits, and velour capes of dsrk brown. They roomed in a nearby inn before they made their way into the city of Hinche. The men were quiet, and they wore dark masks on their faces. Their appearance made the innkeeper nervous, but after seeing the gold that they'd pay with, threw caution to the wind. The men arrived there at three in the morning, and they slept in separate rooms until five o'clock in the morning two days later. They had requested that they'd not be disturbed unless there were a riot, or an insurrection or a coup.

They departed an hour after they woke, and made their way to a house in Petionville where they met and were driven up north, by a young man in a jeep. The young man felt oddly alone in the jeep, as no one spoke, he didn't even hear his passengers breathing in and out. He'd often look in the mirror to make certain he wasn't transporting ghosts. It wasn't uncommon for travellers to be nothing more than spirits come to take away people, and often it meant ruin. The driver wiped a bit sweat from his dark cheek, and then brought his eyes back to the road.
“Why are you going to Hinche?” he asked in French. There was no response. “I guess you aren't talkative.”

Nadya screamed as the switch flew across her thighs, causing another of her many welts to appear on her form. The searing pain was the last remnant of the hits she'd receive for the moment. The woman giving her the lashing was putting the stick back on the floor by the door. She was a light yellowish woman with black hair falling down her back. She wore a green skirt and top, quite ragged, but nonetheless lovely. She looked at Nadya with contempt as she stood over the quivering teenager. Nadya looked at the woman in a whimpering silence, her eyes large with fear and agitation, her lips curled in fright and sorrow and pain, and her teeth, yellowed and decaying. She was a carrier of ugly traits in a lovely form, and this sight more than anything angered her. For this, she picked up the switch again and swung it hard, cracking it across the girl's left cheek, the skin broke, and a red line formed across the side of Nadya's face.
“Now,” she said as she got ready to leave the room, “fetch the water.”

Fetching the water was not a simple task. You first had to travel a good two or three kilometers on foot just to get to the water. Then you had to wait in line while everyone got their own; then you had to march the two or three kilometers back to the town you were from. Making sure not to spill any of it. God knows the trouble one would be in if they spilt the water, or the bucket broke en route to the home. Nadya went through all the infernal possibilities of mistakes on the way back to the home. Her bucket broke once, and another time her bucket was stolen by two brutish children. Nadya still had the scars from the five year old incident. Now of course she was seventeen, and unlike the seventeen year olds in the family which she served, she had to work, unpaid by force, for the D'Leone family.

Nadya slipped on her ragged purple skirt and a purple top and went to the cellar to get the two buckets. They were large, plastic, and could hold ten gallons each. Nadya knelt to the floor and then raised her arms holding the two heavy buckets as she hauled them up the stairs. She left the house and travelled south to a little town a few miles away. As she made her way down the street, a car came up the street, it was a white car, old, little, and inside were four men. They all stared forward like statues, undisturbed by anything around them. It stopped in front of the D'Leone house and the men exited the car.

The men were tall, thin, dressed in dark clothes, they wore dark capes that reached their ankles, and they wore dark bandannas over their mouths and noses. Their eyes were covered by dark sunglasses and they wore black panama hats with white bands around the body. One of the men bent forward, and spoke to the driver, the driver nodded, and proceeded to drive off. The men drew many stares from the people around the street who saw them come out. Everyone had the same feeling of dread when they looked at them. Even at three hundred feet away, Nadya had a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach; it made her more anxious to get on down the road to the next town. As she was disappearing down the hill, one of the men looked at her for a brief moment and locked her face in his mind. He turned to make his way up the steps of the D'Leone residence, as the matriarch answered the door. She was the same woman who had beat Nadya.

Nadya made her way down the old road, stones littered the ground, glass sometimes, but mostly stones made up the bulk of debris on the old road. It was hot, so hot her bare feet stung on the surface of the stones. It was a terrible feeling for her. And the heat wasn't helping the fresh wound on her cheek. It still dripped blood, though it had congealed slightly. It almost looked beautiful on her face, after all, as her father had said before he died, 'Imperfections are beautiful,' in essence, the flaws are what make the beauty of the body.

Nadya's family was full of imperfections, Nadya's father was an influential, wealthy man. He was able to keep the family together and well funded. The mother was an artist, with an inclination toward the darker side of expression. The attic of their old house would frequently be filled with paintings of old and young people some dead, some alive, all in odd positions. Nadya remembered looking at the pictures and wondering why her mother'd draw them. Her sisters were quite insane. Often going off on their own just to hurt each other. They were slim young women, older than Nadya, with long black hair cascading down their backs. They walked with an unnatural grace, and never spoke to those outside of their family. They were known as the Silent Twins among some of the people of Hinche. It was often the general idea for the downfall of the family, that the children were often to blame. It was solidified even more into the public mind that the family was evil when the twin sisters left Nadya, then twelve years old, and moved to Santo Domingo, leaving their sister to be persecuted through no fault of her own.

Nadya marched down the road, she could see the town coming up ahead, it was a good five thousand metres off still, but she was closing the gap with ease. She made her way into the town ten minutes later. Her bare feet were hurting from the long trek, and her unbrushed teeth stank badly. She kept walking down to the middle of the road until she finally reached the watering hole.

It was a little way station where water waspulled from a well, via a pump,and deposited in the huge buckets. Nadya rested her feet and legs while she waited for the lin of other slaves to shorten. It was hours, and Nadya knew what would happen when she got back. She'd get smacked, whipped, and scorned. And then she'd clean the house. When the crowd began to disippate, Nadya made her way to one of the spouts and turned the water on. She filled both buckets, and took a gulp of water for herself before she left. She turned and made her way back to the road leading out of the town. Back to Hinche.

“I have come to buy one of your oldest slaves,” the man sittign in the chair said as he looked around the room. His pale skin had a healthy pink glow to it, and his brown hair was tied in a ponytail. His gloved fingertips were steepled and he peered over them. His teeth were white and sharp. “Now, Madame D'Leone, I have been waiting here for quite some time. I am afraid that if you are not able to present me with a suitable individual to fulfill my needs, that you will have to be passed over for the pick.”

“No,” Madame D'Leone said as she lookked around the room for something, “I have a slave you'll like, his name is Caglion, he--”

“I am not interested in little boys or little girls Madame,” the man said as he rose to his feet. “I an my associates have been here for four hours already. We are on our way to Verrettes.”
“No!” D'Leone shouted as she grabbed the visitor's arm. He looked at her, and held his free hand up to stop the two accomplices who were approaching her with daggers from their belts.
“Madame D'Leone, I would not wnt you to die this evening.”
“Give me one more minute.”
“Fine,” he said as he snatched his arm away and sat back in the chair. Madame D'Leone went into the backyard. It was at that moment the visitor heard a sloshing sound, and he looked out and saw Nadya. He rose to his feet and pointed at the girl through the window. “Her,”

Madame D'Leone walked into the room and saw the visitor standing. “Is something wrong?” She asked. “I've brouhgt another slave for you sir.” She presented him with a fourteen year old girl. He took one look at the child and turned his head.
“No thank you my dear, I'd like to see the young lady carrying the water.”
“Nadya?”
“Is that her name”
“Yes, her name is Nadya, Nadya Luzarienne.”
“Of the Luzarienne family of Santo Domingo?”
“Yes.”
“Why is she here?”
“Her family disowned her.”
“Ah,” the man touched his lip with his finger as he looked out at the young woman. “Fetsh her,”

Nadya heard the sharp voice of the mistress as she ordered her into the house. Nadya quickly made her way to the front door and entered to see the three visitors. The middle man stepped forward, bent to get to her level, and smiled.

“Your name is?”
“Nadya Luzarienne,”
“My you have a lovely smile.” he said.
“Who are you?”
“I am Donovan Wrathe.” the man smiled. He kept his eyes focused on the girl's eyes, keeping hers on him. Then one of his fingertips glided along her belly. It was quick and if you blinked, you'd have missed it; the reaction however was quite evident as Nadya grabbed her belly, curled forward and squealed loudly. Donovan put his finger on her chin and brought the grinning girl's face up.
“How old are you?”
“I'll be eighteen later today...”
“I have a present for your birthday my dear,” he smiled. “I will take you away from here.”
“You're lying.” Donovan flicked his finger on her belly again.
“I have no need for lies.” He smiled. “Do you wish to leave this place?”
“Yes of course,”
“Then I will bring you away.” He stood up, “Madame, I wish to purchase your slave.”

 

[Journia]

Restevac
Chapter Two
M.C. Laphar​

The driver watched from his rearview mirror as the three visitors returned to the car, this time with a fourth person. He could tell by her skin and by her hair and by the way her clothes were ragged that she was a restevac. One of the poor, uneducated people of the serving class in Haiti. Upon seeing this, the man realized why the three men had come to Hinche. The only time that a restevac was ever brought out of this place was for work in another part of Haiti, or Santo Domingo, or Sex Trafficking. The man's heart sank as the smiling woman made her way, flanked by thethree men, across the street and to the car.

Nadya took her seat in the front by the driver, while the three men sat in the back. The silence was deafening and the look Nadya saw in the driver's eyes was disturbing, like a hawk that lost its prey, and was still hungry.

“Can you drive us to Santo Domingo?” Donovan asked.
“I can only go so far as the border, Monsieur.” the driver replied.
“That will be fine,” Donovan said. “there is another driver waiting for us at the border.”
“Why are we going to Sante Dominique?” Nadya said with a turn of her head. “I can't go there!”
“Says who?”
“Says the people in Sante Dominique!”
“The Government of Sante Dominique is not God.” The car started up, and made its way down the road. Nadya had a sinking feeling in her heart as the car came closer and closer to their destination.

The auditorium was filled with over a thousand people, they all watched the graduates seated in two massive phalanxes of educated soldiery. Cana sat in the middle of the group, listening to the president of the university as he gave his farewells to the new graduates of Georgetown. The president was old, his hair curling at the sides of his head and his eyes wrinkled with age. He stood with a cane and hunched over the podium like a large crow defending a single piece of meat.

“You all are the best that the university can produce, the best that any school canproduce, and for that you are to be commended,” said the President. “I bid you farewell, and I wish you all the best that life can offer you.” He was done, and all the graduates cheered and tossed their hats into the air. They went for drinks at the reception area, and had a very merry time. The last time some of them would ever see each other in fact. Cana shied away from the others and drank some punch while her former schoolmates downed Heineken and Miller Pilsner Beer.

After the reception, she went to her dorm, where she looked around. A week ago, it was cluttered up with junk. Now, there was only a large suitcase and a manilla folder. The week had been filled with days of hauling papers and books down the hall to the trashcan, and throwing out old clothes. She had no need for music cd's as she had money to buy musicians now. The entire fortune of the Fadruthiya family had been left to Charities, but Cana hired a Lawyer who helped to change all of that.

She pulled off her gown and put on her foot length blue jeans. They were ragged at the ankles, a style she had recently found quite attractive. She pulled on her day old socks and her white sneakers. She loosely tied them and pulledo n a gray tee shirt. She turned to the bed and sighed.

The Suitcase held a new doorway to be entered. A boundless future filled with beauty and despair, life and death, tranquility. The envelope held a doorway locked, but to be opened before anything else was done. A path of darkness and determination lay on this road, and possibly, terror beyond the scope of her most terrible fantasies. She picked up the Suitcase and then the Envelope.

“I would like to see the room of Bethany Fadruthiya please.” Cana said as she stopped at the front desk of Saint Elizabeth's Mental Hospital. It was a beautiful place, it was like a wonderland on the outide, a nobleman's house. Buto n the inside the truth was plain to be seen. It was miserable.
“Right this way,” the orderly replied as she turned on her heel and led her to an elevator. They rode to the second floor where Bethany was kept, along with numerous other patients of varying traumatic degree. Cana watched the orderly, the woman was tall, with a haunting grace. Her skin was a milky complexion which blended well with her long golden locks restrained by a white clasp. She walked with a confident, sensual stride that Cana picked up on immediately. It was almost as if the woman meant for her to notice it. If that was the case, then it was done.

“This is the room,” she said as she turned to face Cana. “She's probably hiding somewhere.”
“Thank you.” Cana opened the door and closed it quickly. She made sure the orderly was gone before she turned to find Bethany, Cana wiggled her fingers in dark anticipation. She stood in the middle of the room and listened. The hiss of slow, measured breath was faint, but evident. She sat on the bed and looked around for a moment, then bent over until her head reached under the bed. She smiled at the red eyed blonde woman under the bed.
“Hello, Bethany.”

“This is your sister,” Donovan said as he sat down. Nadya was outside of the room while her two sisters, tall, dark haired, slim figured women, sat on a couch before the man.

One wore a pair of jeans that reached the floor, black sandals and a long sleved, light fabric shirt with a deep v-cut. This was Favie, rumored to be the more sinister of the two. She had sharp features on her yellow face, and her slender arms connected to slender, manicured hands with glossy black nail polish. Her lips were curled in a despicable sneer which disgusted the visitor.

“Your arrogance is evident madamoiselle.” He glanced at her sister, who wore a black dress and black stockings. Her heels were in her bag beside her. This woman was Lucielle, who was far more arrogant and persuasive than her despicable sister. Lucielle was rumored to have seduced a man into killing himself, saying that she'd marry him in the afterlife, if he waited for her.

Favie spoke quickly, “Master Donovan, that girl is not our sister.”
“Really,” he replied unconvinced.
“Yes. Our sister died a month before we left for Santo Domingo.”
“Of,”
“Typhoid.” Favie began dangling the sandal of her right foot. “That creature is ofno relation to my self or my sister.”
“Somehow, I think you're telling the truth.” Donovan said.
“I'm glad you think so.”
“Yes, I think that you two have made yourselves believe that Nadya died before you left for this nation. But I can certainly tell you that she is alive and recovering from your actions.” He looked at Favie. She had begun wiggling her toes in her sandals. An uncomfortable expression glazed upon her face. And Lucielle had taken to rubbing her feet together furiously, her stockings making a constant, 'scritch scritch,' in the room. “Is something wrong ladies?”
“No,” Favie said as she shifted positions on the couch and crossed her legs. She scratched her knee for a moment.
“Is that all that brought you here?” Lucielle said as she began scratching her soles furiously.
“Well, no. In fact, I wouldn' even be here were it not for a previous engagement I had the pleasure of having with your cousins in America.” Favie's eyes were shocked for a moment, then she embarrassedly scratched her underarm.
“Gosh, I'm so sorry sir, I don't know what is going on.”
“That is fine my dear, as I was saying, I met your cousins in America. The Fadruthiyas.”
“We haven;t,” Lucielle scratched her back, “heard from them in two years. How are they?”
“Dead.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, very dead. Except for their only daughter, Cana.”
“That bitch, she's not even their, agh,”
“Itching?”
“Yes,” Lucielle said. “So sorry,”
“No need to apologize. Anyway, I just wanted to say that, I was told that in addition to knowing about your sister, which I kno to be the one out there in the hallway right now, you also know of someone else I am looking for. Now, will you tell me or not?”
“id you come here to interrogate us?”
“No, I came here to ask nicely, but I can if you want. My methods are quite precise on young women such as yourselves.”
“Get out.” they said together.
“No,” Donovan said as he rose to his feet and removed his panama hat. His hair fell to his shoulders. He removed his glasses, revealing red eyes. At seeing the man's face, the two women shrieked.

“Dante,” Lucielle whispered. “No...you're dead....”
“Dead? Well, if you count when I was I fought and was shot in the Napoleonic Wars, yes. I am dead. If oyu count the burning of Claude, Mehra and Maloj Fadruthiya, then no. I never died.” He grinned and stepped forward, throwing his cape to the floor and removing his gloves neatly. His knees cracked as he knelt to face them. The women forgot their itchign for the moment and looked into his eyes. Terror filling their blood.

“Don't tickle us again....” Lucielle begged.
“God in Heaven..” Favie gasped.
“God is absent today...” He grinned as he dug his long fingers into the women's bellies. They both urched forward in unison and screamed with laughter. They banged the couch and the floor, tried to get their hands around Dante's arms and failing miserably as their loose skin jiggled madly under their clothes. After five minutes, the women were sweating, grinning messes on the couch, their laughter filling the room.
“Please Dante,” Lucielle begged, “Stop tickling us!”
“No,” he said with focus in his voice.
“Damn you european!” Favie said as she tried to block his hand with her leg. In response, he slid his hand under her buttocks and wiggled his fingertips along the seat of her pants. “Augh damn it!!!”
“Now, you two listen to me.” Dante said. “I wish to know everything about your father and mother. You will tell me everything you know about them, and everything you claim not to know. If you lie to me, I have demons who do much worst than this to succulent wenches such as yourself. Their tortures are right out of a painting by Heironymous Bosch.”
“Fine, FINE!!!” Favie screamed between breaks of laughter. “I'll tell you anything, just stop it!”
“You will not tell me anything, you will tell me what I want to know.” He put his hands under Favie's sirt, and stuck his other hand up Lucille's dress, he dug into their fleshy bellies and watched them squeal and contort. “I am not in the mood for games.”

Two hours later Donovan left the room, Favie and Lucielle followed him quietly. Their faces were straining with residual laughter, and they were still itching like mad. They twitched and moved their shoulders.

Nadya stood as the three people came down the stairway. She looked at her sisters who looked just as they did six years before. And her sisters looked at her. They couldn't believe how pitiful she looked. Knotty hair, rotting teeth, a horrible odor that seemed all pervasive, and ragged clothing. They looked upon her with arrogant contempt.Sensing this, Donovan turned to face the two women above him.
“Do not worry,” he said pointing a gloved hand at them. “Before long she will look far more lovely than you two.” He turned on his heel, and gently held Nadya's wrist. The two of them then walked out of the foyer and into the pickup truck outside. As the vehicle drove off, Lucielle and Favie felt the itching disippate.

“Bethany, do you know who I am?” Cana asked as she looked at her adopted sister's eyes. It was distant, her blue eyes looked dazed eternally. Cana had been working with her sister for months on trying to get her to speak, with no response whatsoever. She had taken her out, bought her clothes, dressed her like her a double. But she did not respond vocally. She merely looked at her, there was no smile, no slack of the jaw, no involuntary twitch. But where she lacked speech, her odd actions were quite extravagant.

Today Cana found her under the bed, hiding from someone, perhaps the orderly. Cana pulled her out and handed her the clothes she'd wear that day. A sweat shirt and sweat pants, and sandals. She tied Bethany's hair back and led her out the door. They walked around Saint Elizabeth's and then walked back to Bethany's room. Cana helped Bethany undo her hair and gave her a piece of lemon pie.

“Bye Bethany,” Cana said after she put the food away. She picked up her bags and opened the door.
“Bye, Cana...” Cana stopped and turned around quickly. Bethany was looking at Cana and smiling.
Cana's eyes welled with tears of joy and she dropped her bags and went to hug her. She wrapped her arms around the woman and Bethany wrapped her arms around her sister's waist. Cana nestled her head between the crook in the shoulder and the neck. Her body language changed drastically as she felt Bethany's fingers skittering along her ribs.
“DAMN IT BETHANEEEHEHEHE!!!” She roared as she kicked a shoe off inadvertently. She rolled on the floor as Bethany lay on her and kept digging her fingers under her shirt. “HAAAhahahaa!!” Cana was not about to be beaten by her sister. She dug her fingers into her armpits, Bethany's teeth clenched and tears welled in her eyes, she snorted and sniggered for a moment.

The orderly heard laughter in the hallway, and went down to see what was going on. She looked in the room and saw Bethany and Cana rolling on the floor, laughing like maniacs and tickling the hell out of each other. She smiled and notified the doctor, her recommendation, Bethany was Cured.

 

[Journia]

Restevac
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.​

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.