Anne was very much hoping for further visits to the old Sieversen. She was burning with curiosity not only to learn more about the special training, but also about the life of the old man. What had he done wrong? And what had become of his Minou?
For the time being, however, nothing came of it. The Baron of Distress tortured them during the next two days practically from morning to evening with his maidenhood business, and on Thursday, while sitting at the breakfast table, the head nurse announced that Anne and Dascha would be on duty in the library from noon.
The prospect of working with Dascha would have made Anne groan normally. But in the last two days her “second favourite topic of conversation” had changed. Dascha, too, seemed to have caught on how unpopular she had become, so she rose from the ashes. She was now friendly and helpful. In dealing with crew she always held back and seemed to seek blame and punishment deliberately, so to not outshine the other girls. Anne, who was still sitting next to her in maidenhood class, could see first-hand how her mouth turned into a very narrow line and a steep angry wrinkle twisted the skin of her forehead. It took a while for her expression to go back to normal. But the girls reacted enthusiastically to the new Dascha. Beatrice, for example, seemed very keen on her now.
Again and again Dascha also sought Anne’s friendship. The welcome party and the prospect of a male master occupied the girls a lot, and so the two talked about it extensively. Anne found it somewhat strange how important it was for Dascha to get the most sought after and high-ranking alpha possible. When Anne told of Florence and her master, the French actor, she was very excited and imagined what it would be like to be chosen by such a “megastar”. As if they had been best friends for years, Dascha also entrusted her with intimate and personal matters. In the most endearing gleeful tone of voice she confided, “if only I had my cuddly toy, my Teddy with me at night. Then everything would be much easier.” And she asked Anne for advice. “I don’t think Miriam likes me at all. What can I do?”
She was always too much, whether it was good or bad. But that was her personality, Anne thought. After all, they treated each other quite impartially during their work assignments, even though their activity was once again quite dull. Of course, they were not to handle the books or perform any demanding tasks. They had to mop the library’s floor. They worked side by side on all fours, always cleaning one of the reddish-brown stone blocks at a time. Each of them was equipped with a mop and a heavy metal bucket with soapy water. If the whole cuboid shone wet with lye, at the same time even the most trained of eyes could not spot a speck of dirt on it, only then they would crawl to the next ones. At least they didn’t see the area they still had to clean, but only the piece they had already worked on, Anne thought.
In Anne’s eyes, the area allocated to them was practically the size of a football pitch. Weren’t there machines for that, too? Full of inner indignation, she immediately gave herself the answer. For sure the castle had the latest technology in cleaning gadgets, which would have completed this task within minutes. But the opportunity to let the new betas slide back and forth on their knees was, of course, not to be missed.
As always in that hospitable place, their physical health was also taken care of conscientiously. After all, only their minds should be tried, not their appearance. Before it started, they had to put on knee pads to not chafe their skin against the rough floor. To protect their hands from the lye, the alpha, who apparently ran the library, had given them these terrible yellow rubber household gloves. The man, who reminded her of a beetle with his high forehead and his strangely short arms and legs, had meticulously checked whether the girls had also pulled them up to the elbows. Not without pressing so tightly on her that Anne could clearly feel his erected member. The mixture of lust and reluctance she captured had made her almost dizzy. With all her strength she tried at least not to fall into her nervousness habit of picking on the little bell. As lustfully as the man stared at her mouth, she had only partially succeeded.
The beetle man and all his fumbling had distracted them so much they had hardly noticed their surroundings. Only when she and Dascha squatted alone in front of their buckets did she let her gaze wander through the hall. It was the most magnificent library she had ever seen. Since the main room was two storeys high, it seemed to reach the dimensions of a station concourse. Nevertheless, it created an almost cosy atmosphere. The vaulted ceiling was painted with intricate ornaments in silver and emerald green, the colours of the organization. Lush chandeliers provided a soft, pleasant light. About a quarter of the room was reserved for the readers. Wonderfully inviting seating areas were furnished for them. There were a sofa over the thick carpet, an armchair and a desk together with an office chair and a computer. The remaining three quarters of the hall were occupied by the bookshelves. They were made of wood in an unusual dark red colour and were so high that the upper rows of books could only be reached by ladders. Each shelf was pierced in three places by wide semi-circular passages so that there were three main paths through the realm of books.
A library of this size had to have an enormous stock. Anne spotted endless series of apparently erotic and pornographic literature. But there were also sections of medicine, law, technology and history. While wiping, they came so close to some shelves that she could finally read the titles on the spines of the books.
How Anne would have liked to have taken books out and looked at them, just as she would have done in another life as a student of German language and literature. Now she hardly dared to touch her carefully and stealthily with her fingertips. Some seemed to offer answers to many of her questions. “The Psychology of the Slave” by Friedrich Magnus was there. Even a book by Ben Abner, “Are we all a little beta? Why Alphas and Betas are much more similar than we think,” was the name of the title, which was certainly incredibly provocative for alphas.
Other books made her shudder. A Professor Friedhelm Hundhausen wrote the book “Branding – safe and durable”. Another of his books was entitled “Extreme Body Modifications in Betas – Ten Field Reports”.
A real writer also seemed to be a man named Phillippe de Ortega. “The slavery in the southern states of the USA and what we can learn from it”, he had written, as well as “The future of the organization Magnus – A Controversy” and a thin volume called “Slain Sadists – from the compulsion of outdated moral concepts”.
A really charming contemporary, this Ortega, Anne thought. Then she read the title of his fourth book and was literally electrified: “Raw mares retract – the manual for beginners and professionals”.
“Mare” was the word that Sieversen used. What might that mean? Quickly she looked around and wondered if she should take the book out. But she didn’t dare. The library was too confusing, the risk of being surprised too great. She didn’t even want to think about what they would do to her if they caught her browsing there.
Frustrated, she began to work the floor slabs as hard with the mop as she wanted to rub off the top layer of granite. Dascha gave her an astonished and questioning look, but she didn’t feel like explaining it. Full of envy and anger she looked at the alphas, who had made themselves comfortable to read in the sitting corners.
And there she saw him. Adrian Götz, was sitting in one of the seating areas. He must have come in at some point when she had so indulgently explored the book titles. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice her. He had settled in an armchair about 30 meters away and was now sitting at her side.
A maid crouched at his feet ready to serve. Disgusting how they surrendered their naked breasts to him, hoping at all times that a caress would fall off for them. But she probably would have to wait a while, because Götz seemed to be deeply absorbed in his reading. He had crossed one leg, his arms resting on the armrests. He had his head a little crooked.
That looked so normal, and yet it was different from all the people she had seen so far. Comfortable, his posture was almost dreamy. Nevertheless, there was a tension in it, which made Anne think of TV recordings of felines of prey in Africa. They dozed peacefully in the savannah and yet it was clear that sooner or later they would rise to beat their targets. This guy was a real violent man, a professional criminal – undoubtedly.
And how long and curly his black hair was. In the back, they even reached up to the collar of his shirt. “But that doesn’t look very military, Mon Colonel,” she thought and felt a st…