Violet's Fingers Ch. 03 - Sex Stories

Violet's Fingers Ch. 03

... in front of her adversary, the same irreverent, unfathomable woman in her room, but smeared in the attendant's blood and tied out like the Christ above the altar.

For her own survival, Oksana began laying into Violet with her spiked glove. Dear reader, in case you are imagining Oksana the master of this little theatre, I must point out that she was much the lesser force. Though restrained, Violet showed no restraint, circling her torturer in a flamenco-like dance of the mind, a bullfight, a masked theatre, taunting and teasing her. Violet made Oksana work hard for the cries she needed everyone to hear, but she spoilt it by adding giggles, making it sound like a game. She had a talent for handling pain that quite surpassed Oksana's skills in inflicting it. She knew her friend's mind well. While Oksana turned to take a drink, Violet focussed as well as she could on the unfinished chess match by the window, recalling the layout and running through sequences of moves to find one that exposed Vasya symbolically. Oksana needed to be broken through the back door of her mind, defeating her at the same time was easy.

Violet shook her head, took a deep breath, turned her face towards the window and mumbled her black knight's move. Waiting a moment for it to sink in, she added, "Voilà, échec et mat en trois coups." The words came slurred from her swollen lips, but she hoped Oksana would see the ruse, that it was a feint, the white queen would be taken unless she helped her dear ...

... Violet, the little black pawn.

Showing again she was losing control, Oksana clenched her gloved fingers in a soft spot, extracting a cry that was heard all the way to the kitchens. Turning away to examine the board, she could not see what was coming, but had no doubt Violet had worked it through correctly, on the board and, yes, with Vasya too.

She turned back to Violet. Hanging from her ties, she looked tired, her arms outstretched as though waiting to receive a congratulatory embrace. The matron of Chistilishche was confused. She had to protect Dilli, her most important inmate, but she was struggling with the prospect of executing her only friend.

Sýla was four years old when she slipped past the yawning guard to find Violet tied against the wall of her mother's office.

She would normally have offered up her cup of water; Violet looked like she needed a drink, but Sýla just wanted to hurt her badly. Sýla thought Violet had killed the one who told her bedtime stories.

Violet knew the light footsteps and smelt the girl's unwashed dress. "Sýla. You must help me."

On the small table beside her were arranged the implements her mother used to punish people. She picked up a sharp pronged fork and started jabbing Violet with it, trying to reach up to her heart. Violet tried to explain between screams who Vasya really was, but Sýla was even more stubborn than her mother. It was only when Oksana returned she called Sýla off, raising the spiked glove and threatening to ...