Thread: Saving Callie (nothingbutporcelain and MarxistPanda)

Stanislav received a message from his son about half an hour after Sergei beat and raped Callie, and it was rather simple, if not poorly typed. Cum drnk wirh me daf. Stanislav realized that his son had probably had too much to drink and would need a ride home before he got himself into trouble, which had happened several times before. And so, he parked a few buildings down from the bar, as it was the only available space, and walked towards the bar. Stanlislav was a massive man. He stood at nearly six and a half feet tall, and his muscles were large but long so they were proportioned perfectly throughout his body. Like he was the last of some demi-giant race. But he was just Russian. Born in hard climates and harder times, and military life hardened his body even more. His eyes were pale and beautiful, practically glowing from the bright light of her makeup mirror. His face was handsome in a strong, rugged kind of way. He was forty years old but his face only showed the experience of his age and not the fading youth. He could still be the poster boy on those Soviet conscription posters twenty years ago. A wealthy man, he wore only the finest of suits, perfectly tailored to the massive measurements of his body. Tonight he wore a simple black suit with a deep crimson shirt, and a red tie, a few shades lighter than his shirt. He walked passed the alley where Callie lay before stopping suddenly and turning back around. Some habits never die, especially the ones that saved your lives more times than you could count. Slava was always mindful of his peripheral vision, especially at night, where the sides of one's eyes are more keen to movement in low-light. He saw the form of what he didn't until a split second later recognize as a human body. Slava rushed down the alley and lowered himself down to his knees beside the small broken young woman. He didn't care that her blood was soaking into the knees of his pants. Gently, he reached out to touch the girl's neck. She still had a pulse and she was still breathing, but both were very weak. The first thing he did was turn her head to the side so she wouldn't choke and die on her own tongue. Then, he went about checking to see if anything was broken. Nothing was, thankfully, but it was clear that someone had raped her and beat the hell out of her. Slava's strong, handsome face moved into an expression of disgust as he gently cleaned the semen and blood from her face with a handkerchief. Then, he shrugged of his suit jacket and wrapped the filthy, bloody girl in it and gently lifted her up. She was like a small, abused child in the hands of this giant. Whenever Callie woke up, she would find herself in the bed of a motel, wearing a clean white shirt that was so large that it would easily be a dress for her. She was clean, and smelled like soap and sterile medical bandages. Slava was a man of many hard-to-die habits. Whenever he found a young woman raped and beaten in an alley, he didn't run away and call the cops like most people, as he didn't trust the police. He didn't take her to the hospital, as he didn't trust doctors. He took things into his own hands. He also knew better than to take Callie back to his house. His wife would have never understood. And he'd promised her that he was finished with the shady espionage of his former life. In reality, Callie was in fairly good shape now. She had a cut on her eye brow that he sowed together nicely with the contents of a sterile medic bag he always kept in his vehicle. Her right eye was swollen pretty bad, and he had it wrapped close to bandage the cut. Other than that a few cuts and a lot of bruises. He knew she had some internal bleeding, but it wasn't bad enough for him to worry about it. Her stomach would just be a giant nasty bruise for a week. Slava himself was sitting at the edge of the bed flipping through the channels on the small color television.