Page 27 of Forced Bratva Hostage
“It’s time for your bath, Miss Wren. Shall we proceed?” Martha asked, stepping forward.
My brows drew together at her response, eyes narrowing. “Proceed?” The bed creaked under my weight as I sat on the edge, my bare feet resting on the fluffy rug at the base. “Can somebody tell me what's going on?”
“We’re about to get you cleaned up, Miss Wren. That's what’s going on,” came Martha's polite reply.
I pulled my head back, brows arching in surprise. “Get me cleaned up…. What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that…” Mary began, her eyes fixed on me.
I cut her off mid-sentence, “I know what it means, Mary—that was rhetorical—and yes, I can bathe myself, thank you very much.” I rose to my feet.
“We don't doubt that, Miss Wren,” Martha said, her voice calm and collected. “But that was the instruction.”
“Given by….” I sighed, swallowing my words. My fingers rubbed my eyeballs in a massaging motion. “Never mind.” My shoulders slumped as I lowered my defenses.
This was glaringly Afanasy's doing, and it was pointless to resist. He'd made it pretty clear that I wasn't allowed to disobey his orders; there would be consequences if I ever defied him again. I didn't know what those would be, and honestly, I wasn't willing to find out.
After he caught me trying to flee the mansion, he'd let me off with a warning. I got lucky that he didn't punish me in ways beyond my imagination, and it would be stupid to try and defy him again.
I'd concluded that my obedience was my only ticket out of here, so I'd rather not jeopardize that.
However, the million-dollar question lingered: What on Earth was he up to this time?
At first, it was a bit awkward, allowing them to shed my clothes in the bathroom, and my eyes dropped to the floor, my hand flying to subtly cover my breasts. My discomfort when they watched me eat was nothing compared to how I was feeling right now.
My nakedness was exposed, arms across my moderately sized breasts, thighs clasped against one another. My free hand discreetly glided down to cover my cunt as shame washed over me.
The women readied the bathtub, its surface transforming into a luxurious oasis. The air was thick with the sweet fragrance of red roses, their delicate petals floating like crimson kisses over the soft, velvety foam that blanketed the surface of the water.
Once done, they gestured toward the tub, and I slowly stepped in, the warm water enveloping me as the faint scent of lavender soap and chamomile shampoo filled the air.
As I relaxed in the tub, these women bathed me thoroughly, their delicate hands dancing across my skin with expert motions.
I shut my eyes, letting out a slow exhale as I allowed the maids to do their jobs. As one washed my hair, the other scrubbed my body with a soft sponge.
After a while, they were done. They helped me out, wrapped my body with a towel, and led me back to the room. There, Mary strolled over to the wardrobe and withdrew a beautiful flowered knee-length dress with spaghetti straps.
Together, they applied light makeup on my face that matched my skin tone. Martha was busy making me look beautiful, while Mary was busy styling my hair.
By the time they were done, they led me to the mirror. I looked at my reflection and could barely recognize the woman staring back at me. My lips curled into a smile despite my attempts at trying to suppress it.
“You look amazing, Miss Wren,” they chimed in unison.
Honestly, their combined voices sometimes gave me the creeps. But there was no denying the fact that they'd done an awesome job at transforming me into this sophisticated woman I saw in the mirror.
My dark hair was swept upwards, piled elegantly on top of my head, with two delicate strands escaping to frame my face. The flowered dress hugged my body, accentuating my figure, as I stood balanced on a pair of heels.
As they led me out of the room and down the hallway, my heart raced, pounding in my chest, as I wondered what exactly was going on.
I couldn't help but feel like a sacrificial lamb about to be slaughtered. I’d been fed like a princess, treated like a queen, and dressed to look like a goddess. Something was fishy, and I was disturbed by it.
It was as though everyone else but me knew what was happening, and the fact that I was unaware of my fate scared the living daylights out of me.
As we drew closer to his Afanasy's study, I could hear the same classic tone from the other day—the melody that had drowned his lover's pleasured moans. I felt a pang of irritation swell within me. Was he fucking her again?
My brows knitted together ever so slightly.
What do you care whether or not he's fucking her or some other woman?I thought, immediately silencing a faint voice that hinted at my jealousy.