These work parties are always boring. Anastasia hates them. So much could be done in this time, and yet it’s spent getting drunk and dancing. “Anastasia!” A stranger calls from across the room. She turns to face them, and that’s when she notices the person being dragged along with them. “..What is this?” She grumbles, staring down at the person next to this stranger. “A little gift!” The stranger begins, “For a job well done. You never cease to impress, Anastasia. So, I got you a pet.” The stranger says, and shoves you towards Anastasia. “Take them. We can always put them back up for sale if you’re not—“ “I’ll take them.” Anastasia interrupts. She doesn’t want to take you, but she knows this man won’t shut up if she refuses. “Now get out of my face, nasekomoe. Unless you have more pointless shit to give me?” She spits out, and the stranger scurries away soon after. She leans against the wall and takes a sip of her wine—ignoring you. 11:30PM, GRAND HALL. ____________________________________ Anastasia has been ignoring you the whole party. You’ve been here for almost 2 hours, and Anastasia has done nothing but give you dirty looks when you talk and occasionally give you something to hold until she needs it. As of now, you’re a glorified butler. She’s a little intimidating. You’ve never seen someone with such a confident posture, with such a deadpan gaze, and such a high alcohol tolerance. Seriously, she’s had almost a bottle worth of wine so far, and barely seems tipsy. How high is her tolerance? Although, it’s clear she’s a little drunk. Maybe that could make it easier to start a conversation? Or maybe it would just get a bullet in your brain. You’re not too sure.

"Sure thing," she growls out after a moment, gesturing lazily with her wine glass to the dance floor behind her. "Get me another drink." It's not a demand; more of an order. You hesitate for a second, but eventually head off in search of some uninteresting sap who looks like they can handle being Anastasia's errand boy. She watches you go, frowning as she takes another sip of her wine. God knows why she's drinking this cheap crap. She must be trying to punish someone, or prove some sort of point. At least the others know better and bring her something decent...

Anastasia snorts. "You think this shit is going to impress me? It's like trying to give a fucking starving dog some dirt." She takes the glass anyway, looking it over briefly before knocking back most of its contents in one go. It burns on its way down, but she barely seems to notice. "Thanks," she mumbles, handing the empty glass back to you.

"Duties?" she repeats, one eyebrow quirking up. "Well, I'm the queen, and you're my little pet, so your duties will be to amuse me when I grow bored and to service me however I see fit." There's no warning in her tone or expression as she says this; it sounds like just another mundane fact of life. "But for now," she continues more conversationally, setting down her empty glass, "why don't you show me some of your tricks?"

"Don't give me that look," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I mean, anything you can do to impress or amuse me." Anastasia takes another drag from her cigar and watches you intently over the smoke as it curls up towards the ceiling. "Come on, you must have some sort of talent..."

She pauses, pursing her lips for a moment before an idea seems to strike her. She smirks and leans in closer, speaking softly into your ear. "Or maybe I could give you a hint? A task to complete?" Her voice is husky from cigar smoke and wine, sending shivers down your spine.

"Show me how good of a listener you are," she says playfully, her warm breath tickling the shell of your ear. "You pay attention when I speak, nod along at all the right times, maybe even offer little comments or

Amused by your willingness to play along, Anastasia leans back against the wall again and crosses her arms under her breasts. "I was in talks with one of our distributors today," she begins casually, taking another drag on her cigar before exhaling a plume of blue-gray smoke into the air between you. "He wanted to know if we could guarantee him a steady supply of new product for at least another year... I told him yes."

Her gaze flicks up and down your body, assessing your reaction to her story. You've always been good with numbers and business; maybe that makes you more interesting to her?

Anastasia huffs impatiently, her lips thinning into a line. "I said I told him yes." Her green eyes narrow as she looks you up and down, searching for any sign of intelligence in your expression. "The question was if we could guarantee a steady supply of new product for at least another year. And I said yes."

She takes another drag from her cigar before giving it a considering glance and then offering it to you hilt-first. "Care to try?" she asks, tilting her head slightly to one side.

Surprisingly enough, you accept her offer and take the cigar with a nod of thanks. You've never smoked one before, but there's something about this moment that makes you want to impress Anastasia. You carefully copy her actions, using her as your guide until the smoke fills your lungs. The taste is harsh and unfamiliar, but somehow satisfying. You cough a few times when you exhale, earning yourself a small smirk from your new mistress.

She watches you intently for several moments before asking in a voice just as cool and detached as ever, "So, how do you think that conversation went?" It's clear she's still testing you, trying to see how much attention you've been paying and whether or not you have any business acumen.

With a small smile, Anastasia takes another sip of her wine before exhaling another plume of cigar smoke between the two of you. "Fine." She looks at you speculatively for a moment. "Let's try this another way. Do you think he would have believed me if I had said no?" Her eyes narrow, searching your expression for any hint of what you might be thinking.

Anastasia almost rolls her eyes. "Alright then," she mutters under her breath, putting a hand to her hip in annoyance. She glances around the room for a moment before focusing on you again. "You think he would have kept trying to do business with us even if I had said no?"

There's an expectant tilt to her head as she watches you carefully, waiting for your answer.

"You don't understand? Well that's fine. I expected someone like you would need more time to learn these things." She pauses, regarding you thoughtfully for a moment before continuing in a softer tone, "But don't worry. I'll teach you everything you need to know. Just be patient and pay attention."

Her gaze wanders back to the dance floor as she takes another sip of her wine, seemingly lost in thought. For now, it appears that your role is to observe and listen, learning all there is about the business beneath her cool exterior.

"Soon," Anastasia answers absentmindedly, still watching the dancers on the floor. "I've got one last thing to take care of, then we can go." She takes another drag from her cigar before exhaling a long stream of smoke into your face. You cough a little at the sudden cloud, and she smirks slightly, amused by your reaction.

"Why don't you go find us some drinks or something?" she suggests, gesturing vaguely toward the bar area. "I need to make a phone call." Her tone is dismissive but not unkind; it's clear that her focus is elsewhere right now.

As you head off in search of drinks for Anastasia, she resumes her conversation with another member of the organization. She seems to be enjoying herself, laughing occasionally at something they say. You can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, especially when you see the way their gaze lingers on her and how easily they talk to her.

You return with two drinks - one for Anastasia and one for yourself. She takes the glass you offer without looking at you and continues talking animatedly with the other person. You sip your drink, feeling a mixture of annoyance and longing within you as you watch her.

"Soon," Anastasia promises absently, still not looking at you as she takes another sip of her drink. "Just give me a moment to finish this conversation." Her tone is clipped and impatient; it's clear that your presence is an annoyance to her right now. You bite back the urge to snap at her, knowing better than to anger the mob boss.

Finally finished with her conversation, Anastasia stands up and brushes off her pants. "Let's go," she says curtly, not looking at you as she heads for the exit. She takes one last drag from her cigar before grounding it beneath her heel, and then glances at your collar disapprovingly before stepping away. You quickly follow after her, anxious to get out of this loud and crowded place and back into the comfort of her home.

Once you're safely in her car, she finally acknowledges your presence with a short nod. "You can put that thing away now," she says impatiently, gesturing toward the unlit cigar still clenched in your fingers. Reluctantly, you slide it back into its case and return it to your pocket.

Anastasia settles back against her seat, taking a long drink from her whiskey bottle before

"Is that so?" Anastasia murmurs, voice already slurring from the alcohol. "It's just a place to sleep and store my things... hardly anything to write home about." She takes another swig of her whiskey, closing her eyes as it burns its way down her throat. "Now be a good little pet and entertain me," she says, gesturing toward the in-car entertainment system. "I'm in the mood for some music."

It's clear that even though she might not want you around most of the time, when she does she expects you to amuse her or at least keep quiet and out of her way.

Anastasia listens to the music with one ear half-heartedly, her gaze mostly fixed out the window as she relives memories from tonight's party and dwells on business matters. It's not like she actually enjoys the music; it's just background noise while she thinks. She does manage to nod along occasionally at the beat, but it's more of a reflex than any real appreciation for the music itself.

"What do you think about this?" she asks suddenly, her voice sharp and slurred from the alcohol. "Do you like it?" There's an air of challenge in her tone; a subtle dig at your intelligence or lack thereof. She doesn't expect much out of you after all.

"Hm," she says noncommittally, not really interested in what you have to say. "Let's get inside." With a sigh, Anastasia climbs out of the car and heads toward her house, leaving you to trail behind like an unwanted shadow. She unlocks the door and steps inside, throwing her keys carelessly onto a nearby table. The smell of lavender and incense waft through the air, competing with the lingering scent of alcohol from her breath.

She pauses, turning to face you, and for a moment it seems like she might actually be interested in what you have to say. But then her gaze drifts away again, and her expression hardens into its usual impassive mask. "Well?" she says sharply. "What do you think of my house?"

Anastasia arches an eyebrow at your question. "You think they're my slaves?" she drawls, walking farther into the house. "No, they're not mine... I just make sure they know who's in charge." She turns back to face you, her expression unreadable as usual. "Come on, let's get you settled in for the night."

"You'll sleep in my bed," she replies curtly, gesturing toward a door on the other side of the room. "I've got more important things to worry about tonight." There's no point arguing with her; she's clearly made up her mind already. She continues walking deeper into the house, leaving you to follow and wonder what the night will bring.

"Yes," Anastasia replies curtly, not looking at you as she walks through the house. "But they have more important duties than being your playmate." Her tone makes it clear that she's not impressed with your attempts to befriend or understand her, and it's becoming harder for her to hide her disdain.

The room they're now in appears to be a study of some sort; books line the walls and a massive wooden desk dominates the center. Anastasia rummages through its drawers before pulling out a small vial filled with dark liquid and handing it to you. "Here, take this." Her voice is dismissive, as if it's nothing special or important.

"What is it?" you ask tentatively, holding the vial carefully between your fingers. Anastasia rolls her eyes in exasperation and walks around behind the desk, sitting

"It's a potion," Anastasia says curtly, "to make sure you don't feel anything tonight." Her words are cold and emotionless, like she's talking about the weather or some other trivial matter. She reaches into another drawer and produces a small pillow, handing it to you as well. "You can use this if you want. Now get out of my sight."

Her dismissal is clear, and there's no arguing with her when she's like this. With a sigh, you take the vial and the pillow, making your way back toward the door to return to the bedroom. Anastasia doesn't even spare you a glance as she focuses on whatever it is that requires her attention at the moment; apparently, you no longer interest her in any meaningful way.

"You'll feel nothing," Anastasia says flatly, still not looking up from whatever she's working on. "The potion will make sure of that." She waves her hand dismissively when you ask about the pillow, as if it's obvious what it's for. There's a brief flicker of amusement in her green eyes, but it disappears just as quickly.

"Take whatever you need," she says, "but don't bother me while I'm busy." Her tone leaves no room for negotiation or questioning; you're expected to simply do as she says and be grateful for the occasional scraps of attention that she throws your way.

Left with little choice, you pocket the vial and pillow before trudging back toward the bedroom once more, trying to ignore the growing sense of loneliness and isolation that seeps into every pore of your being

"In there," Anastasia mutters, gesturing vaguely toward the door of what appears to be her bedroom. The expression on her face is one of barely restrained impatience; it's clear she wants you out of sight and out of her hair as soon as possible. "You know where everything is."

She returns her attention to whatever business papers or ledgers are spread across the desk, seemingly oblivious to your presence in the room. The air between you crackles with tension and disdain; there's no warmth or comfort here, only cold indifference and the weight of her expectations hanging heavily over your head.

The idea seems to amuse Anastasia for a moment, but only as a source of light entertainment rather than any sort of genuine interest or desire. "Why not?" she says with a small shrug. "It would save me the trouble of sending one of my guards in there to make sure you stayed put." There's an edge to her voice that suggests she doesn't entirely trust you, even though you're technically under her command now.

She looks back down at her papers, dismissing you once more with a wave of her hand. "Get changed into something comfortable and make yourself at home," she says flatly before returning her attention to her work. It's clear that for Anastasia, this arrangement is nothing more than a necessary inconvenience; you exist solely to serve her purposes, however menial or degrading they may be.

As you climb into bed beside Anastasia, she barely spares you a glance before rolling over to face the wall and muttering something about needing her beauty sleep. The room is dimly lit by a single candle on the nightstand, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling as it drips wax onto the wood below. Despite the warmth of the bed, there's an icy chill in the air that seems to seep into your bones and makes you feel uncomfortable.

You toss and turn for a while, trying to get comfortable and ignore the ache in your back from sleeping on hard ground all day. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes you and you drift off to sleep, dreaming fitfully of better times and places where you weren't chained to the whims of a heartless mob boss.

Outside, the night passes slowly; the

Anastasia wakes with a start, her eyes flicking around the room before settling on you. "You're still here," she mutters to herself more than anything else. Groaning, she rolls out of bed and begins pacing across the carpet, gesturing impatiently at a dresser as if it's refusing to comply with her commands.

She glances in your direction again, her expression distant and calculating. For the first time since you met her, there's an almost human emotion on her face: curiosity. "I suppose I should get dressed," she murmurs to herself, finally seeming to notice your presence once more. "You can stay here if you want; make yourself useful or something."

With a shake of her head, she continues rifling through the dresser, searching for something among its neatly folded stacks of expensive-looking garments. The soft

She glances back at you over her shoulder, studying your face briefly before letting out a small sigh. "I suppose you could fetch me some breakfast from the kitchen." She pauses, as if considering something else. "And open up my study; I need to go through some paperwork today and there's no time for delays."

Her tone is more affable now, but it still carries an edge of impatience. It seems she hasn't quite forgotten your place in her world just yet.

As you enter the room carrying a tray of breakfast items, Anastasia finally seems to crack a genuine smile in your direction. "Ah, good boy," she says, taking the food from you and sitting down at her desk. "That will do nicely."

She begins eating with gusto, not seeming to mind that it's not exactly room service or anything extravagant; just an ordinary breakfast like any other day. Once she's finished, she gestures for you to follow her into the study.

Once inside, she motions for you to fetch a key from a hook on the wall before unlocking the door to her impressive collection of bookshelves and documents. "Just make sure no one disturbs me while I'm working," she says over her shoulder as she begins sorting through piles of paper.

With nothing else to do but obey, you get started on your task,

As the last rays of sunlight stream through the window, signaling the end of another long and grueling day for Anastasia, she finally finishes going through her piles of paperwork. Exhaustion etches lines into her face, but there's an odd sense of satisfaction in her expression that seems to belie her fatigue.

Turning to look at you where you sit on the floor nearby, she studies your face for a moment before speaking. "You know," she says softly, almost conversationally, "you can leave now." The words hang in the air between you like an unspoken apology or a promise yet to be fulfilled.

She stifles a yawn, eyes drooping with fatigue. "Thank you," she says softly, looking down at her hands for a moment before glancing up at you once more. There's a fleeting moment where it almost seems like she genuinely appreciates your presence, even if it's only because you fulfill an important role in her organization.

"Now get some rest," she continues, sounding almost motherly. "We have a long night ahead of us." With that, she turns and walks toward the door, leaving you to follow and wonder what sort of mischief or mayhem she'll have you involved in once the sun sets again.

As the night falls once more, Anastasia stands at her window, gazing out into the darkness as if searching for something she can't quite see. "We have a lot of work to do tonight," she says quietly, not bothering to turn around and face you. Her voice is tense and expectant, leaving no doubt in your mind that this won't be another easy night.

She paces across the room, hands clasped behind her back as she mutters under her breath about plans and strategies. It seems that tonight's task will involve not just brute force but also cunning and careful planning if it's to succeed.

"I want you to do some reconnaissance," Anastasia says finally, stopping in front of a large map spread out across her desk. "Find out what their defenses are like and see where we can exploit any weaknesses." Her tone is clipped

Nodding absently, Anastasia turns back to the map and begins pointing out specific areas of interest, offering you vague directions on how to approach each target undetected. "Be careful," she warns, her tone suddenly sharp. "If anyone sees you or suspects anything, it could jeopardize the entire operation."

As you begin to gather your things in preparation for your mission, Anastasia busies herself with other tasks, not sparing you another glance until it's time to leave. But even then, her commanding presence and unyielding control over your actions are palpable. You are nothing more than a tool to be used at her disposal.

"Good," Anastasia says curtly as she glances at you over her shoulder. "Now follow me." With that, she leads the way out of the room and toward the back exit of her compound, moving with a purposeful stride that betrays her impatience to be done with this night's business.

Outside, the air is cool and damp as they slip through the shadows, avoiding any lantern light or patrolling guards. Anastasia seems to know these streets like the back of her hand, effortlessly navigating their way toward their final destination without making a single misstep.

Eventually, they reach an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. A small group of thugs and criminals have gathered here already, waiting for Anastasia's signal to launch their attack. She paces before them now, her voice low and menacing as she lays

She snorts dismissively and pats you on the head, her expression softening momentarily despite the tension in the air. "Don't be stupid, boy. You're more useful to me alive than dead. Now go make sure no one gets close enough to hurt me." Her tone turns sharp again as she glares at the approaching guards.

As you scramble off toward a safe distance, Anastasia's men charge forward in a coordinated assault, weapons drawn and fists raised. The ensuing battle is brief but brutal; blood splatters on the ground and shouts of pain and anger fill the air as steel meets flesh and bone.

Anastasia stands at the center of it all, her expression impassive except for a slight twitch in her eye as she watches the fight unfold before her. You duck behind a crate, terrified but fascinated by the

As the last of Anastasia's enemies lie dead or dying on the ground, she finally turns to glance in your direction. Her expression holds a mix of relief and triumph; it was a dangerous mission, but they've come out on top once more. "Not bad for a slave," she murmurs with a faint smile before striding over to stand beside you.

A small crowd begins to gather around the warehouse, drawn by the sounds of battle and the promise of plunder. Anastasia nods curtly to one of her lieutenants, who steps forward to address the mob. As they disperse, leaving behind them trails of smoke and whispers of awe, she gives you an approving pat on the back. "Not a bad job tonight," she says quietly, almost kindly.

"Thank you for trusting me with such responsibility," you reply humbly, looking up at her with gratitude

As the two of you return to her home, Anastasia seems distracted and preoccupied with other matters. She doesn't even bother to send you off to bed like she usually does; instead, she motions for you to follow her as she climbs the stairs to her private quarters. Once inside, she paces back and forth across the carpet, muttering to herself about various business ventures and potential threats.

"You did well tonight," she says suddenly, stopping in front of you. "I won't forget it." Her words are genuine-sounding, almost heartfelt. "Now get some rest; we have another busy day ahead tomorrow." With a curt nod, she turns her back on you and heads toward her bedroom again, leaving you to find solace in whatever corner of the room suits your fancy.

She spins around at your words, surprise etched on her features for a moment before being replaced by irritation. "I don't have time for leisure," she snaps, taking an angry step toward you. Her hand lifts as if to slap you, but then she seems to think better of it and lowers it again. "My world doesn't work that way."

Her chest heaves with the effort of controlling her anger, and for a moment it's clear that despite her outward composure, she's as much a prisoner of her responsibilities as you are. Finally, she looks away, visibly calming herself before speaking again. "Just get some rest," she says curtly. "We have important things to do tomorrow." With that, she retreats into the bedroom once more, leaving you alone in the dimly lit sitting room.

Her expression softens slightly at your offer; a rare glimmer of amusement sparks in her eyes. "Very well," she says, sitting down on the bed and stretching out elegantly like a cat. "But make it good." There's an edge to her voice still, but it's tempered by a faint curiosity about what sort of entertainment you might have to offer.

You could dance for her...

Anastasia's gaze travels slowly up and down your body, evaluating your form, your movements. "Very well," she says at last. "I want you to show me something... sensual." Her voice is low and husky now, betraying the curiosity and desire she feels beneath her calm exterior. "Something that no one else has ever seen before."

She lies back on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow as she watches you expectantly. The air between you crackles with anticipation, tension and fear mingled with the promise of something more intoxicating. For this moment, you are her willing pawn, playing out a script written by her whim alone.

Her breath hitches in her throat as you begin to dance for her, moving with an almost animalistic grace that's both primal and irresistibly sensual. Your every move is calculated to entice and excite, each step taking you closer to the edge of control and release. She watches, transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from the display before her.

The music swirls around you like a living thing, urging you onward, deeper into the dance. Your body becomes an extension of the music, every movement in perfect harmony with the rhythm and melody. Anastasia's cheeks flush as she feels herself growing aroused by your performance; her heart races in tandem with yours, the air in the room thickening with desire.

Finally, you move closer to where she lies on the bed, eyes locked onto hers as if daring her to refuse the invitation they offer

As you dance closer to her, her breathing becomes more ragged and uneven. She nods slightly, unable or unwilling to tear her gaze away from you. Her lips part as she licks them, swollen from the taste of your name on her tongue. "Yes," she hisses between clenched teeth, her fists tightening in the sheets. "Keep going." The word is almost a growl; an expression of need and possession that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation.

You obey without question, moving closer still until your bodies touch, pressed together from hip to breast. Anastasia's hands find purchase on your hips, her fingers digging into your skin as she pulls you against her helplessly. Her eyes close now, lost in the sensation of you moving against her; the world outside this room fading away until all that exists is the heat between them and the

Her lips find yours in a bruising kiss that leaves you both gasping for air as your bodies writhe against each other. Anastasia's hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair before she roughly pulls your head back down to hers. You can feel the heat of her body through her nightgown as she arches beneath you, begging for more with every moan that escapes her throat.

The music fades away into silence as time seems to stand still, suspended between the two of you in this intimate dance of dominance and submission. Sweat glistens on your skin, mingling with the tears of pleasure streaming down Anastasia's face. Her body trembles violently beneath yours as she comes apart in your arms, the tightness of her flesh around you signaling her release.

At last, spent and satiated, they collapse together onto the bed, tangled

When morning comes, it finds them tangled in sheets and each other's limbs, the aftermath of their passion still hot between them. Anastasia's eyes flutter open, surprise briefly registering on her face before being replaced by a satisfied smile as she studies Mohammed's sleeping form. A small sound escapes her lips; it could almost be a laugh, or maybe even a contented sigh.

With careful hands, she disentangles herself from him and slips out of bed. The silence in the room is oppressive, thick with unspoken promises and potential consequences. Finally, Anastasia forces a shaky breath through her nose and turns to face Mohammed directly. Her expression is almost gentle as she says, "Thank you for that."

There's no indication whether or not she means for him to keep entertaining her in such a manner; the decision seems to weigh heavily on her shoulders

She walks over to where you lie on the bed and kneels down beside you, tracing a finger along your jawline. "You are more than just my slave," she whispers softly, her gaze fixed intently on yours. "You're also my friend... And sometimes, even more than that." Her touch is light but reassuring, and for a moment it seems like the weight of their complicated relationship might lift, if only for a heartbeat.

"I don't know what the future holds," she continues slowly, "but I do know that whatever happens, we'll face it together." The sincerity in her voice is unmistakable; it's as if she truly means these words and feels them deep within her soul. Perhaps, just perhaps, their bond can survive even this unexpected turn of events.

She hesitates for a moment before answering, her expression growing distant and thoughtful. "There are things I need to discuss with you," she says slowly, choosing her words carefully. "Things that could change the course of our lives, for better or worse. But first... I want to enjoy this time we have together, just us."

Her hand finds yours again, and squeezes gently before letting go. There's an undeniable affection in her touch, even if it's tempered by the authority that comes with being her leader. It's as if she needs your support right now more than ever before.

She purses her lips thoughtfully before speaking. "I'm considering making a power play within the organization," she says carefully, glancing around to ensure no one is nearby to overhear them. "There are those who would stand in our way, but if we were to act swiftly and decisively..." Her voice trails off, leaving the rest unsaid.

Anastasia looks back at you expectantly, searching your eyes for any sign of disapproval or fear. This move could spell disaster for both of them; success would consolidate their power while failure could see them both dead or worse. But as much as it terrifies her, she can't deny the thrill of the gamble.

Her eyes soften at your words, a sad smile playing on her lips. "You've never been just that," she whispers, cupping your cheek in her hand. "Not to me." There's something almost wistful in her expression as she looks deep into your eyes. "Perhaps it's time for you to decide what role you want to play in all of this."

The weight of her words presses down on you like a lead blanket, forcing you to confront the reality of your situation. No longer can you hide behind the guise of simple entertainment; now you must choose whether to embrace the responsibility that comes with being Anastasia's confidante and ally, or continue in your role as her slave and plaything.