The Chronicles Of Power

Tamara pushed the serving cart briskly through the great hall. As she passed the enormous photographs of Lucy, still hanging where they had been since the gallery opening some weeks before, she couldn’t help grimacing. The woman looked absolutely dreadful in them, yet Tamara had to admit the photographs had achieved exactly what they’d set out to do.

She guided the serving cart No.3 toward the library with practiced ease. It carried whiskey, cognac, gin, soda, ice, cigars, and bowls of peanuts—everything needed for one of Sir’s gentlemen’s evenings. Sir was entertaining guests.

She eased the cart into the library as quietly as she could, careful not to let the bottles rattle. Sir occupied his usual armchair, while three other men, all roughly his age—perhaps one a little older, another slightly younger—sat opposite him. Each had a shaved head, and despite their impeccably tailored suits, there was something unmistakably dangerous about them. Each of them wore an oversized, flashy wristwatch. Their eyes swept over Tamara from head to toe before they exchanged a few words in a language she didn’t recognize at first. Russian? Yes… it had to be.

The evening unfolded much as these evenings always did. The gentlemen talked, laughed, and drank well into the early hours. Tamara remained quietly at the ready, refilling empty glasses, emptying ashtrays, and making sure the bowls of peanuts never stayed empty for long. Nights like this always left her drained the following day.

Several times throughout the evening, the three visitors switched back to their own language while casting discreet glances in Tamaras direction. She didn’t like the look of that. By the end of the night, they seemed to have reached some sort of agreement. One of them politely asked Sir whether they might make an offer to his delightful waitress.

Sir merely gave a small wave of his hand, granting his approval.

The oldest of the three—the one who had done most of the talking—turned to Tamara.

“My dear,” he said with a warm smile, “we can’t help but admire your strength.”

The other two men nodded in perfect unison.

Leaning forward, he continued, “What would you say to wrestling the three of us?”

Tamara stared at him, completely caught off guard. A wrestling match? What on earth did he mean?

The man seemed to read her thoughts.

“The three of us enjoy testing ourselves physically,” he said. “A wrestling match against you would make for a delightful challenge. Winner takes all.”

The youngest man chimed in. “Naturally, we’d compensate you. We were thinking five thousand dollars. Is that too little?”

A hundred thoughts raced through Tamara’s mind. Five thousand dollars. That wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. But could these men be trusted? And what exactly did winner takes all mean?

She looked over at Sir. He seemed just as puzzled as she felt, but after a moment he simply gave her a thumbs-up.

Turning back to the oldest man, she asked, “Winner takes all?”

He smiled.

“When we’ve won,” he replied matter-of-factly, “we’ll be free to do whatever we want with you.”

Understanding dawned on Tamara at once. They wanted to fuck her together, and they wanted her to put up a fight. She’d heard of men like that before.

Her gaze moved slowly from one face to the next.

“Okay,” she said.

The three men broke into broad smiles and exchanged enthusiastic high-fives. It was agreed that the match would take place in the gym later that weekend.

*

Saturday evening found everyone gathered in the gym. Ivan had spent half the day moving the exercise machines aside and rolling out an enormous wrestling mat across the floor. Sir and Ma’am sat in matching chairs at ringside, with Lucy and Molly standing beside them, ready to serve drinks whenever needed. Ivan moved quietly around the room with stacks of fresh towels.

Tamara stretched while studying the three men. They stood together in one corner, talking animatedly in Russian and laughing among themselves. A bottle of vodka made its way from hand to hand. Dressed alike in training pants and T-shirts, they looked nothing like wealthy businessmen without their tailored suits—more like three aging street thugs with gray creeping into their hair. They took their time getting ready, their voices growing louder as they fired each other up. Ma’am didn’t look impressed. She wrinkled her nose and leaned over to whisper something to Sir.

At last, the men were ready. They removed their heavy watches and gold chains before stepping onto the mat. Sir rose from his chair and addressed the room in a clear, ceremonial voice. Tamara noticed Lucy rolling her eyes. Ever since the gallery opening, she’d become surprisingly bold.

“The rules are simple,” Sir announced after clearing his throat. “No biting. No strikes to the eyes. The match continues until the winners have been decided. The winners take whatever they’ve want.”

He sat back down and motioned for the match to begin.

“I think you forgot something, John,” the youngest man said with a grin.

“Quite right.”

Sir stood once more.

“Clothes off, Tamara.”

Tamara let out a quiet sigh. Of course. They wanted nothing getting in the way. There was no point arguing. Five thousand dollars was five thousand dollars.

She undressed.

The three men slowly licked their lips.

The match began.

Tamara immediately began circling the outer edge of the mat. She refused to let the men surround her, her eyes constantly shifting from one opponent to the next. Whenever one of them stepped forward, she answered with a quick sidestep, a feint, or a sharp shove that forced him back. As long as they attacked one at a time, she could rely on her speed to keep them at bay.

The youngest made the first serious attempt. He lunged with his arms outstretched, aiming to wrap them around her waist, but Tamara twisted her hips away at the last possible instant. He caught nothing but air and stumbled past her. Before he could recover, she drove a hard shove between his shoulder blades and was already moving again.

The others learned quickly. They stopped chasing her individually and began methodically shrinking the space she had left to work with. They barely needed words. A nod here, a glance there, and they seemed to know exactly what the others intended. Every time she slipped past one of them, another was already in position to cut off her escape.

She could feel the pace beginning to catch up with her. Her legs grew heavier. Her breathing deepened. Sweat ran down her back and dripped from her chin onto the mat. She kept moving, but the explosive burst that had carried her through the opening minutes was beginning to fade.

When the youngest man made his next move, it looked almost identical to the first. Once again, he dove for her waist. Tamara slipped away just as she had before, but this time the attack was nothing more than a feint.

In that same instant, another man charged in from the side. The third came from behind, driving low into her legs. The impact was enough to break her balance. She managed to catch herself with one hand against the mat, but she still dropped to one knee.

She tried to get back up immediately.

She never got the chance.

The first man trapped one of her arms against her body while the second threw his weight across her back. Tamara strained with every ounce of strength she had, actually lifting them several inches off the mat, but the advantage lasted only a heartbeat. The third man dove onto her hips, and together they were simply too heavy.

She pitched forward, landing face-down on the padded mat with a muffled thud.

She heard Molly gasp.

Two of the men jumped to their feet, cheering triumphantly, while the third remained seated on Tamara’s back, pinning her to the mat. The other two shouted excitedly to one another and at Tamara as they circled her several times, delivering hard slaps to her buttocks whenever they passed within reach.

The man on her back said something in Russian, and the others answered only, “Da.”

She heard the two men pull down their pants and felt them beginning to force her legs apart.

Tamara met Sir’s and Ma’am’s eyes, smiled, and gave them a quick wink. She had the russians exactly where she wanted them.

Tamara ripped her leg free from the man’s grip and planted one knee beneath her. Then the other. She sensed their confusion immediately and felt the man on her back relax his hold ever so slightly.

Perfect.

Hands beneath her shoulders. Brace. Drive.

A moment later, she was on all fours with her arms locked straight, one thoroughly astonished man still clinging to her back.

Then everything happened at once.

She brought one foot under her, then the other, rising into a deep crouch before standing smoothly and effortlessly, a smile spreading across her face. It hadn’t been all that long ago she’d squatted 420 pounds.

Tamara stood in the center of the mat, a naked force of nature. Two of the men stood frozen with their pants around their ankles, mouths hanging open, while the third still clung to her back. She reached down, caught him by the legs, and swung him around until she was cradling him like a small child. Looking him straight in the eye, she said only, “Goodbye.”

Then she hurled him with all her strength into the youngest man.

The instant she let go, Tamara dropped her center of gravity, every muscle in her powerful legs tightening at once. She exploded forward, driving her shoulder into the remaining man’s stomach. As he doubled over, gasping for air, she effortlessly lifted him off the floor and slammed him down onto the pile of the other two.

She heard Molly scream and clap her hands.

But Tamara wasn’t finished.

She shoved the two men with their pants around their ankles aside, dropped to her knees across the third man’s arms, and pinned him in place. Her hips pressed down over his face, leaving him trapped and unable to see or breathe. Her hands shot out, each finding its target as she seized one of the other men’s testicles.

Now all three of them were completely at her mercy.

Silence settled over the room. The only sound was Tamara’s heavy breathing. She let the moment linger for several seconds before tightening her grip just a little more. Terror shone in the men’s eyes, and she could feel the man pinned beneath her beginning to struggle for air.

Perfect.

“Winner takes all?” Her deep voice rumbled through the gym. “Wasn’t that our agreement?”

No one answered.

Her gaze drifted toward the pile where the men had left their watches.

“I’ll be taking those.”

“John, for God’s sake!” the youngest man shouted, his voice cracking.

Sir merely smiled and gave a casual shrug.

“In this house, we follow the rules,” Ma’am said, her words carrying the weight of a final verdict.

Tamara tightened her grip again.

“All right! Yes!” the second man cried. “Take whatever you want!”

Only then did Tamara slowly release them and rise to her feet. The man on the mat gasped desperately for breath, his face glistening with sweat. She walked unhurriedly over to the watches. Three of them. Large, silver Rolexes, every one. She wasn’t an expert, but she suspected she’d just doubled her annual salary.

As she got dressed, the three men stood together on the mat, speaking to one another in hushed voices. They eventually seemed to reach a decision, and the youngest cleared his throat.

“We’d very much like to do this again,” he said. “And now that we’ve seen what you’re capable of, we’ll naturally increase your fee.”

Tamara raised an eyebrow, and gave the men a nod.