Yelena groaned internally as she finished buckling the strap-on dildo in place. She had already bound Marya stomach-down on the sawhorse, her wrists and ankles secured along the sawhorse's legs. There were still a few minutes before the men would arrive. These four men had not previously used Marya as a group before, but had apparently come up with a new gang-rape idea they wanted to try out.

Yelena wondered whether the idea was their own, or Dimitri's. Not that it mattered. Dimitri, she thought bitterly, will be very pleased either way.

Using the available time, Yelena stood in front of Marya and had her daughter lick the surface of the dildo. Yelena maintained a blank expression as Marya's eyes locked onto hers while she licked. Such a loving, yearning look in Marya's eyes, thought Yelena. She never seems to get tired of holding me, rubbing against me, kissing me open-mouthed. Her whole life, thought Yelena, revolves around sharing sexual pleasure with me. Thank God they still think she's just pretending out of fear.

Yelena smiled as Marya paused during her licking to say, her voice husky with the degree of her ardor, "I love you, Hélène."

Yelena leaned down towards her for a quick kiss, brushing her tongue lightly against Marya's. "I love you too, Hélène." Yelena stood upright once more, and Marya resumed licking.

Yelena had tried to avoid dwelling on the question of how long this could go on, assuming Marya's delusional world remained stable. It had been months now, Yelena knew -- she wasn't quite sure exactly how many. Every day was a repeat of the last, though the innovations, such as the one upcoming, continued, as if from a bottomless pit of different ways Marya could be abased and abused.

The door opened, and the four expected men came into the room sporting huge, anticipatory grins. Each, Yelena knew, would signal to her which end of Marya he wanted; Yelena would then take the other end.

The first, Corporal Scheranski, nodded at Yelena, moving towards Marya's head and gesturing Yelena towards Marya's rear. Yelena favored him with a smile. Standing behind Marya, Yelena put the tip of the phallus against Marya's sex, waiting politely for the corporal to push his erection into Marya's open, waiting mouth before thrusting the dildo inside. Covered with Marya's saliva, the dildo slid in with little friction.

As Yelena and the corporal alternated thrusts, both grunting with the effort of pushing Marya back and forth between them, Yelena leaned over, her stomach curling around Marya's buttocks, reached under Marya and took Marya's breasts in both hands, pulling them towards her with each forward thrust. Marya, now, alternately gagged each time the corporal pushed towards the back of her throat and squealed with pain with each time her mother squeezed her breasts and slapped hips against her buttocks, penetrated more deeply by the dildo each time. Yelena, as she so often did, had to remind herself that the pain she was causing Marya was nothing in comparison with the agony Yelena was saving her from. And Marya always instantly forgave Yelena for any pain caused.

As Yelena had known it would, the ever-present drug-induced tingling between her legs deepened to a sexual fog that enveloped Yelena with a degree of lust she had never experienced before coming here. Only a small voice in the background of her mind continued its despairing commentary on the shame of having to perform in this way with her daughter. The forefront of her consciousness was engulfed in the sensation of her stomach enfolding Marya's warm, smooth butt cheeks, of the front of her thighs pressed against the backs of Marya's, of the feeling of Marya's breasts filling her hands like soft, sweet fruits. Marya, she knew, was aroused as well. The saliva coating the dildo had helped smooth the initial insertion, but now the phallus slid in and out more friction-free than mere spit could account for.

That whispery background voice told Yelena she needed to cut back on the drug. At least, she reminded herself, I know I'm not really as sexually aroused as I seem by my own daughter's body. I'm being made to feel that way, by artificial means. I have needed it all along, because I can't get wet otherwise, but somehow maybe I could get by with less of it, and stop completely losing control of my sexual impulses. Even a single pill gets me going, but maybe the doctor can give me some smaller ones.

Yelena forced her mind away, again, from the thought that this might continue for years. Just get through the next hour, she ordered herself. Marya always likes to cuddle after something like this. That will be nice.

Corporal Scheranski finished at last, and backed away, looking satisfied, leaving Marya to swallow his seed. Corporal Patchko stepped forward then, and signaled to Yelena to move around in front of Marya.

With a silent, invisible sigh, Yelena put the end of the phallus, now coated with lubrication from both ends of Marya, into Marya's mouth, and leaned over Marya's back, as required, so that she could use her hands to pull apart Marya's butt cheeks, making entry easier for the corporal. Physically aiding him in the rape of my daughter, Yelena thought, barely succeeding in stopping herself from gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. She helpfully kept Marya's buttocks separated as the corporal began pounding away. Each thrust forward by the corporal made Marya gag again on the phallus.

Larisa sat up and rubbed her eyes, reaching blindly for the clock to turn the alarm off. Five-thirty in the morning. She'd never been a morning person. Sighing, she took a shower and got dressed, entering the ward to find the nurses, yawning, were disconnecting Blondie and Pixie from their now-empty IV drips.

After the nurses took the frozen women to the toilet to pee once again, Zlata, looking at the others for confirmation that they were ready, nodded to Larisa.

Larisa pushed the button on the wall next to the door to the president's office. The buzzer did not, in fact, sound in the office, Larisa knew, but would signal Ivan elsewhere that she was ready to enter that inner sanctum.

Minutes later Ivan opened the door from inside the office. The nurses carried Blondie and Pixie into the office, and Larisa began directing them in arranging the limbs of the two girls. It took over an hour, with a lot of effort, especially in trying to bend Blondie as required, but Larisa was finally satisfied.

Larisa and the nurses retreated to their rooms, Larisa telling Ivan they were ready for breakfast now.

This isn't too bad, Rachel thought. I could easily live with this.

She understood now that the fourth woman, the non-nurse, was in charge of designing the poses for Rachel and Anya. The nurses seemed sometimes to offer suggestions, but generally looked to be following the fourth one's instructions.

Rachel was kneeling, her knees apart, her butt resting on her ankles. Anya was on Rachel's lap, facing away from Rachel, kneeling and straddling Rachel's left thigh, her sex resting on the thigh, her lower right leg under Rachel's crotch. Anya was turned at the waist, towards the right, her head turned still farther right at the neck, so that she and Rachel could kiss, open mouthed. Despite the added elevation from sitting on Rachel, Anya needed to look up sharply, with Rachel's head bent over her, to make the kiss possible. Rachel's left arm was wrapped around Anya just below her shoulders, her right hand reaching down to cover Anya's sex, without insertion. Anya had her right arm raised and curved so that her hand lay flat on the side of Rachel's head near the back, as if pulling Rachel into a harder kiss, while her left hand was underneath, cupping Rachel's right breast, fingers splayed apart, squeezing it lightly. Both of them had their eyes open, which would look odd, but Rachel was glad of being able to see Anya's face so close.

Rachel was sure it looked very romantic. She was also sure the president would believe it was more embarrassing to both of them than it was. Far from being appalled at helplessly being forced to maintain such an intimate position with another woman while the president looked on, Rachel looked forward to holding the kiss with Anya for hours.

The president did come over briefly for a closer look, but said nothing. Rachel wasn't able to see his expression. He made some calls at his desk, then left the office for a time, but returned to continue the same routine as yesterday.

As Larisa and the nurses were finishing breakfast, sitting around a table in the ward rather than in their own rooms, Larisa heard a door open, and assumed it was Ivan, come to retrieve the food cart. She gasped and jumped to her feet when she saw it was the president. Around her, the nurses had also leapt up and were saluting. The president gestured vaguely to them to stand at ease, then turned his full attention to Larisa. "I accepted yesterday's rather innocent pose because I knew the shock to the mannequins of finding themselves unable to move would be sufficient. But starting from today, the pose itself should be the problem for them. I thought you understood what I wanted. Many of your paintings involve humiliation, shame, and physical pain. Today's pose has none of that."

Larisa opened her mouth and attempted to speak, with nothing coming out. She believed she had held her own before, talking to the president, but now he was clearly angry, which presented a whole new level of intimidation. She finally managed to say, "I'm sorry, sir! D-do you want us to change it?"

"Not now. I have too many things to do. But I want to see improvement tomorrow." He stopped and slowly smiled. Larisa thought it was the most frightening smile she had seen in her life. "Watch channel 63 on your television this afternoon. At about, say, four o'clock." With that he turned on his heel and left.

All four women stood in place, not moving, other than to tremble, for several minutes, trying to remember how to breathe. At last Larisa said, in a tiny voice, "I'm sorry." She didn't know what to think about her own future, but she was worried she might be getting the rest of them in trouble too.

The nurses finally sat and resumed eating their breakfasts, absent the casual conversation from before the president's interruption. After a time, Larisa continued her meal as well, her trembling subsiding gradually. I do know what he wants, she told herself. I hate to make those women go through that. But I can do this.

Larisa sat on the edge of her bed facing the TV screen, with Veronika and Raisa on either side of her, and Zlata sitting behind her, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed. Larisa had pointed out to them that the president hadn't said they needed to watch too, but each gave her a don't-be-an-idiot look. The TV, now tuned to channel 63, was at present showing nothing but snow. Larisa wondered whether she had remembered the number correctly, and the time.

Raisa looked around Larisa's bedroom curiously. "I don't have anything on my walls. Where'd you get these paintings?" She shook her head. "Seem a little raunchy for the presidential mansion... Oh!" She blinked. "Are these yours? Is that what the president was talking about?

Larisa gave her a weak smile. "Yes, I painted them. Apparently the president is a... collector. That's how he knew about me." She looked down. "He said he wanted my 'imagination' for this job."

She gasped as the television screen cleared. As the picture came into focus, Larisa saw an image that matched one burned into her memory a few days ago.

It was from the prison. Whether live or recorded, she didn't know. It didn't matter. There were the women in the rock cavern, naked and chained, sweating from the heavy work, made so much harder by their bondage.

The scene shifted to a work detail Larisa and the nurses hadn't seen on their tour. On the screen was a winter scene, a beautiful tree-lined snowscape, with fat flakes gently falling. Larisa had time to wonder whether it had been somehow spliced into the film by mistake. The camera pulled back, and it became clear that the winter scene had been shot through a large window, in a room in which several prisoners, recognizable by their nudity, chains, and brush-cut hair, milled around. One of the prisoners reluctantly entered a booth at one end of the window, and Larisa raised her hand to her mouth in shock as the woman went through an outer door and shuffled away quickly through the snowscape -- hunched, shivering convulsively, obviously miserably cold. The woman knelt to gather some pine straw underneath a tree and brought it towards the window to dump the straw into a bin, then hurried back to gather more straw. Eventually the woman was allowed back in, and other women surrounded her, as if they were warming her, while another woman took her turn out in the frigid air. Larisa moaned as she realized the women were doing their assigned jobs. Obviously Larisa was being shown that there were worse work assignments than the ones she had seen on her tour.

The scene shifted again, now showing one of the cell blocks. For the first time, Larisa and the others saw the cells occupied, and could see just how cramped were the accommodations in which the inmates spent nearly all of their time outside hard-labor hours. The women along one side were visible, curled up on the hard concrete floors in near-fetal positions, with no room to stretch out to any greater extent. All at once the women scrambled to kneeling positions, up against the bars, their breasts projecting obscenely out past the bars. Their eyes fearfully followed the guards, who walked down the aisle, each stopping to squeeze a breast of one prisoners and then raping the woman so chosen. The scene then cut to show two women out of their cells in the narrow aisle, with guards on either side. To her shock, Larisa could hear one of the guards explaining to the women the rules of a fight in which they were obviously unwilling participants, and then the fight began, one of the women cutting the lip of the other with a punch to the face. The scene changed once again, now showing two inmates tied together, being forced to have sex with each other while the guards laughed, shouting instructions and taunts.

When Larisa and the nurses had toured the prison, they had been told about the women being used for "entertainment" by the guards. This, Larisa thought in horror, is what that meant. She had imagined what the entertainment might consist of, but she saw now that her imagination hadn't gone nearly far enough.

Larisa wanted desperately to look away, but made herself keep watching. This is to motivate me, she told herself. I need to be motivated. I need a reason to do what I have to do here.

The scene switched once more, to show a woman standing upright in a taut X, screaming continuously. There was something moving on the lower part of her body.

Larisa finally identified the movement. Snakes! There were dozens of snakes winding their way up the woman's legs!

In an almost breathless whisper, Raisa said, "That's... that's the president's daughter! She's supposed to be dead, in that crash! It was in the news for days!"

In a harsh rasp, Veronika said, "He would do this to his own daughter!"

Larisa suddenly vaulted from the bed into the bathroom, seemingly in a single movement. She threw herself down to her knees and vomited into the toilet.

The words ran over and over through Larisa's head, almost as if spoken from outside: They will do that to you, Larisa. They will do that to you, Larisa. She had already been sure she wasn't pretty enough or sexy enough for the guards to want her for the cells. The president had said in that case there would be something "less pleasant."

And Larisa was so deathly afraid of snakes. She was barely conscious of saying aloud, "Snakes. Snakes. Snakes..." It was as if someone else was saying it.

She felt hands all around her, patting her back, rubbing her shoulder. All three of the nurses were with her. Raisa quickly wet a washcloth with cold water and wiped Larisa's face and forehead with it.

Zlata spoke for all of them. "You don't have to do this alone. We're all here under the same threat. What he wants you to do... it's all our jobs now. Okay?"

Larisa turned to Zlata, threw her arms around her and cried on her shoulder.

Larisa had tossed and turned in bed all night. She had debated for a time whether to ask Zlata, to whom she had come to feel close, if she could sleep with her, just to feel safe with another warm body beside her, but decided the nurses all had enough worries of their own without having to try to deal with hers.

Finally, without realizing it, she drifted off -- and seemingly just minutes later, the alarm went off.

Following a quick shower, she dressed and stumbled blearily into the main room just as the nurses were returning with Blondie and Pixie from their morning pee.

Larisa slapped her cheeks, trying to work some alertness into her brain. She still had no ideas. All through the night, instead of visualizing positions for Blondie and Pixie, she had only seen snakes.

Zlata looked into Larisa's eyes questioningly. Larisa squeezed her own eyes closed, and nodded without opening them.

When she did open them, she saw Zlata, who with Veronika was carrying Blondie, use her free hand to press the button beside the door to the president's office.

Larisa swept her eyes around the ward desperately. She saw a half-open drawer full of lengths of plastic tubing for the IVs. An idea came and was rejected, then came back. She pulled two 150-centimeter lengths of tubing out of the drawer. When Ivan opened the door, Larisa followed behind Raisa, who was carrying Pixie.

Inside, Zlata and Veronika set Blondie down gently on the padded platform, and Veronika blinked as she saw what Larisa was holding. "What's that for?"

"I want to try some bondage."

Raisa gaped at her. "But they can't move anyway! What's the point of tying them up?"

Larisa shook her head. "Of course they can't move. But that's not important. It's all about creating a tableau."

Veronika shrugged. "You're the artist."

Zlata slapped Veronika's elbow. "We're all the artists." She looked at Larisa. "What are we doing?"

Larisa started directing them. She tried helping them move limbs, but her hands were shaking so badly she wasn't much use for that. So she just stood back, biting her lip, shivering though it wasn't cold, trying to keep from peeing in her pants though she'd used the toilet just before coming out of her room, and gave halting instructions to the others, watching the tableau take shape. Of the plastic tubing, she said, "There's no need to tie it tight, and cut off circulation. It just has to be able to stay where it is without coming undone on its own. Obviously she can't get out of it no matter how loose it is."

The nurses collaborated wholeheartedly, offering ideas of their own, some rejected after discussion, one accepted immediately, about arranging Blondie's legs.

Raisa bent down over Pixie, frowning. "We have to make sure she can breathe."

Veronika nodded and ran back through the ward to her room, retrieving her makeup case, unused since her return from the prison. Opening it, she held the mirror under Pixie's nose, saw the glass immediately fogged. She nodded to the others. "She's breathing okay. Is there any danger of either of them shifting a little?"

Zlata poked at Pixie's side with her knuckle a few times. "I think this is stable. Neither of them can move enough to upset it."

Larisa felt her anxiety abate slowly. I think this will work, she told herself tentatively.

At last the nurses all looked at her. Zlata said, "Anything else? Do you want to look a few minutes to see if you think of anything?"

Larisa took a deep breath. "If he doesn't like this, I just... I don't know what else he wants."

Rachel felt anger coursing through her. I would never, ever do this to Anya, she thought. I'd never do this to anybody! They are so twisted, taking our love and dragging it through the mud.

Rachel felt especially betrayed because she had thought the nurses understood how she and Anya felt about each other. She had looked forward to another hours-long kiss with Anya.

Rachel was sitting upright on the cushion. Anya was lying on her stomach in front of Rachel, hands tied in the small of her back by plastic tubing, her legs bent at the knees, her ankles crossed and tied together by another piece of tubing, one loose end of which was tied to the tubing around her wrists. Rachel could imagine how much Anya hated being hogtied, especially after that awful night with the crotch rope.

Anya's head was bent back sufficiently at the neck so that her face rested in Rachel's crotch, her wide-open mouth covering Rachel's sex. Apparently, Rachel thought bitterly, they couldn't make her tongue stick out to push that inside me, though Rachel thought that, to all appearances, it probably looked as if Anya was doing so.

Rachel's right leg was raised at the knee along Anya's side, to make her sex more accessible to Anya's mouth. Her left leg was lifted and curled around on Anya's back so that her calf muscle was pressed hard against the back of Anya's head, as if Rachel was using her leg for a headlock on Anya to keep her trapped for cunnilingus.

Rachel couldn't actually see Anya's head now, once they had made the final adjustments: her own left breast was in the way. Rachel's left hand was cupped underneath it, lifting it high enough so that the nipple was forced as far into her wide-open mouth as it would go. The nurses had used some of Rachel's own saliva to help seal her lips to the skin of her breast. Rachel had never in her life thought about sucking one of her own breasts, for pleasure or any other reason. It hadn't even occurred to her she could, but she'd learned today that was one of the things her breasts were big enough for.

She could see Anya's bottom, though. And feel it. Rachel was leaning forward far enough that she could reach Anya's butt with her right hand. She probably couldn't have done so on a woman her own height, but Anya's small size made it easy. The index finger of Rachel's hand was not visible to her, but she could feel the walls of Anya's rectum surrounding its full length. The other fingers were resting on Anya's buttock, the thumb across from them.

Rachel agonized at how much that must be hurting Anya -- how much she was hurting Anya. There was nothing in the world right now that Rachel wanted more than to take her finger out of Anya's most intensely private place. But as much as she tried, still after all this time, to find a way to move, she still couldn't.

The anger flamed up in Rachel once more. Again she told anyone inside her head who would listen, I would never do this to Anya.

Anya really must hate me now, Rachel moaned silently inside. I know she knows I can't help what I'm doing to her right now. But if it weren't for my selfishness, she wouldn't be here having it done to her.

Aside from Anya's mouth, the back of her head, and Rachel's finger clenched tight by Anya's anus, Rachel could feel Anya in one other place: since Anya's mouth was sealed by Rachel's sex, all of her respiration was coming in and out of her nose, not half an inch above Rachel's mound, and Rachel could easily feel the regular rhythm of Anya's breathing, a slight suction while inhaling and a sharp whoosh while exhaling, as if Anya were blowing out birthday candles. Rachel actually felt glad, for once, at one of the liberties the prison authorities had taken with her body: if Rachel still had her bush, Anya might be smothered by pubic hair now.

As it was, Rachel's mound was very sensitive, much more so than when it had been protected by hair. The feeling of Anya being so close, being right there, the knowledge that it was Anya, the one island of Rachel's love in a sea of anger and fear... Rachel was getting wet. Her physical contact with Anya was so intimate that she couldn't help it. She wasn't really embarrassed about that. Anya knew how Rachel felt about her. But Rachel didn't want Anya's face smeared with Rachel's juices on top of everything else she was suffering. Rachel doubted Anya would like the taste. And it was really inconvenient to get aroused right now, with zero chance of any relief from sexual tension.

Thinking of Anya's breathing, which Rachel couldn't stop thinking of at present, suddenly made Rachel frown, in her mind if not with her immobile face. As angry as she was at the nurses, she was finding it hard to reconcile their abuse of her body and Anya's with the solicitousness of taking the trouble to make sure Anya was still able to breathe with her face trapped in Rachel's crotch. She knew it had troubled them -- one of the nurses had run out and returned with a small mirror, holding it up to Anya's nose, and the others had looked closely, discussing the problem -- Rachel didn't need to understand their words to see that that was what they were doing.

Rachel, the inner Rachel, gasped, though again, her body didn't move. She suddenly understood. It was important that she blame the right person for this. It wasn't the nurses' fault, nor that other woman telling them what to do. That one had seemed as far from being an authority figure as possible, for all the pointing she'd been doing. She'd seemed frightened to death.

Rachel was very familiar with people being coerced to do things they found unbearable. The memory of hitting Anya in the face was never far from her thoughts, as much as she tried to forget it -- and even worse, the memory of those days when she'd been made to pretend she didn't know Anya or notice her existence.

These women had been forced to do this. They were terrified of what would happen to them if they didn't. And Rachel knew exactly who had done the terrifying.

Speaking of whom: Here he was. Rachel heard the president enter the office. No sooner did she hear him close the door than she heard his footsteps coming towards her. And his delighted chuckle.

He crouched just ahead of Rachel, so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, Miss Preston. I see you have found a nice little toy to play naughty games with. I did not think a nice young woman like you would treat her toys this way." He chuckled again. "Or did you lose something inside her? Is that what your finger is hunting for?" He looked down at Rachel's crotch. "Perhaps she lost something inside you too. But I'm sure her tongue can find it."

Rachel had felt Anya breathing faster and harder as soon as the president approached. Frozen though Anya's body was, she had no control over the release of adrenaline. Rachel couldn't feel Anya's heartbeat, but knew it was probably racing now. The increased rate of Anya's respiration, on the other hand, was something Rachel could feel.

Rachel broadcast the thought at the man so intensely she felt sure he would hear it: do not touch her! If he laid a finger on Anya, Rachel was sure she could move for that. It would be pure reflex.

The president spoke again, with less laughter in his voice and more intensity. "You should not have thought you can hide anything from me, Miss Preston. I know that you and Miss Simonina are very close. Perhaps you enjoyed holding her as a lover yesterday? That was a misjudgment by my assistants, but the oversight has been corrected. You will not enjoy being my mannequin."

The shock washed over Rachel in waves. Oh shit, the voice within her wailed, he knows, he knows! And as much as I hate what I am doing to Anya right now, it will probably get much worse, and I can't do anything to stop it!

With her thoughts all focused on that fear, she wasn't ready for the next thing that came out of his mouth. "I told you that I was not happy that Miss Forrest could not be here. She could be your toy right now. That would be very nice, yes?"

The anger that Rachel had misdirected at the nurses earlier, and redirected at the president, exploded into life again, much stronger than before. You piece of shit! Rachel thought. You jerkoff in presidents' clothes! You killed Mandy. She died to save the world from you, and now you're making jokes about her! You're not worthy of even saying her name!

Rachel was glad, for the very first time, that her face couldn't betray any emotion. That was what he wanted, to see how much his words stung her. Well, psycho-shit, she thought, you're out of luck.

The president put his fingers up to her cheek. "So hot you are! You must have fever. You should take better care of yourself."

Damn it!! Rachel thought. He did see a reaction. I didn't realize I was blushing!

I will kill him, she thought. He has to end up dead. Mandy deserves that.

Still seething inside, she saw him move away now, apparently satisfied. He hadn't said anything to Anya. I suppose that makes sense, she thought. In this little scenario the nurses have arranged, she's the helpless victim. I'm the perpetrator.

And I'm the American spy, she added. He wanted me specifically for this. Anya is just an "interesting" replacement for Mandy.

Maybe the nurses can kill him, she thought. They can move. If they can just get over being scared.

The president, at his desk, occupied himself with the same activities as yesterday. Rachel was able to watch, this time -- she was facing towards that direction, perhaps by design. The president wasn't in the center of her vision, so he was slightly out of focus. He had several sessions of speaking to his laptop computer -- videoconferencing, as Rachel had suspected. Occasionally his phone rang, evidently a call from someone less plugged into the Internet than the people with whom he conferenced online.

Rachel was puzzled when he opened a desk drawer at one point and retrieved another laptop computer from it. This one he used without speaking, but with considerable typing. Rachel would have frowned if she could. She was at a loss to think what he might do on that laptop he was unable to do on the other.

Anya could feel herself calming down after the president left Retchell alone. She always felt sure he was going to hurt Retchell. But he had only spoken to her. Anya couldn't sense any reaction in Retchell -- that was good, since Anya felt sure she would know if Retchell had been hurt.

Anya wasn't sure what would happen if he did hurt Retchell. She believed, somehow, she would overcome whatever it was they had done to freeze her body. She would fight anything, internal or external, if Retchell needed her.

Anya's butt hurt, but she was accustomed to the feeling. She felt a little claustrophobic -- her head was so thoroughly trapped by Retchell's leg wrapped around it that she wasn't positive she would have been able to move it even if her body hadn't been frozen. She knew it wasn't the nurses' fault. They'd been very thoughtful, as they always were. In spite of how terrified they were. And Anya knew exactly who had them scared, without them saying.

She wasn't anywhere near as happy with this position as the one yesterday -- that had been wonderful! -- but as long as she could be with Retchell, it didn't matter.

The taste in her mouth now -- it hadn't been there at first.

She recognized it suddenly. It was what her fingers tasted like after she did... that.

She hoped it meant she was making Retchell feel good.

Larisa sat on the side of her bed, bent over, her face against her crossed arms in her lap, crying. Zlata and Veronika sat on either side of her, with Raisa behind, all of them stroking her shoulders and back.

Zlata leaned up close, her mouth against Larisa's ear to make sure Larisa heard her. "Larisa, it's going to be okay. Yesterday when he complained, he came in here much earlier than this. If he didn't like today's pose, you'd already know by now."

Larisa turned to her, sniffling, her eyes still streaming and red. "You really think so?"

Zlata massaged Larisa's neck. "I'm not making it up. Look at the time!"

Larisa looked and then nodded, turned to Zlata and gave her the ghost of a smile. "Thank you for all your help. All of you." She looked around at the others. "I really mean it. You have no idea." The video yesterday had affected all of them, but none nearly so deeply as Larisa. They probably didn't know exactly why, and Larisa had no intention of telling them, knowing others outside the room were listening. She shuddered. Snakes!

Veronika gave Larisa a back rub. "Listen, why don't you start thinking about tomorrow? Today is over for you."

Larisa actually giggled. "At eleven o'clock? Pretty easy job." She did find she was feeling a lot better.

Raisa said, "I think now that was a good idea, about tying up Pixie. Now that I saw how it looked. I bet he really liked that part."

Larisa's eyes went wide. "We should get some real stuff for doing that. Ropes -- really pretty, expensive ones, I think. Oh! And a collar... choke collar! And a leash!"

Zlata laughed and hugged Larisa. "There, now you're thinking!" She looked once more at the clock. "Ivan should be here with lunch soon. You can tell him what you need then."