But as soon as I felt all these feelings closing in on me, closing around me like a man’s hand on my throat, I went cold as ice and got out of there.
It’d been a long time since I’d felt fear—that comes from not giving a damn—so it took me a few minutes, the walls of my house reeling around me, to recognize the feeling.
I was afraid of this little girl. Something about her made me afraid.
And now, that fucking brat was lying on her bed, reading a Kindle, ignoring all the food. Except the roll she had snarfed.
Infuriating.
She was so fucking infuriating. I hated that she made me like her more by doing that—refusing to eat. She made me want to dominate her more, sure, but I liked that she was so defiant.
And I hated that I liked it. I hated that it would only make me enjoy my job more, I hated that I was starting to think less like a professional and more... personally about her.
Business is business, and nothing is personal.
I had a professional debt to Kyril. It was part of my code.
I could not be getting all fucked in the head about this girl.
I watched her—her long hair was spread over her shoulders and back, her ass was shapely and facing the camera. Beneath the pants, I knew that her skin was raw, that if I touched her she would have to yield to me. Maybe she would eat her lobster if I tied her up and swatted her bottom—
—and then filled her up, in every hole. Maybe then she’d break and get out of my mind and out of my chest where it felt like she was pounding inside my heart with tiny fists. If I could just get her to bend to my will, then I would lose interest in her.
I needed to get Natalia under control, so I could get myself under control and get out of there. Out of the state, out of the States, and back to my regularly scheduled life, where I didn’t care about anything or anyone.
But Natalia, whose stomach I could hear growling over the intercom, was staring at her Kindle and leaving all that food untouched. And something held me back from going in there and teaching her a lesson.
What?
What had ever held me back from just doing my job? This was a job—a personal debt, but a professional one in its own way.
Just treat it like a fucking job, I told myself.
I reached forward and turned off the feed to her room.
I needed less emotion.
I paced the dark house, and then I got in my lap pool and swam. I’d rather have packed up and left—I could have, after all. I could have left the door open, and let that ungrateful brat wander out and back home and never given any of it another thought again. I could have let that house rot into the ground, never coming back, never thinking of it again.
That’s what I pictured, while I swam in my pool, lap after lap.
Because now, thanks to Natalia, I couldn’t do what I would have done.
And I hated that.
Chapter Ten
Natalie
It wasn’t easy, but I resisted the food.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything on the Kindle, so I watched some movies without even seeing what was happening on the screen, my thoughts constantly churning, my body betraying me with a craving I had never felt before. I was furious with myself, on the one hand, for having anything but feelings of hatred for a guy who had kidnapped me and spanked me.
I was furious when I felt an ache in the center of my legs every time I thought of the humiliating way he’d turned me over and whipped me until I could feel my skin burning—even now.
I was furious that I liked the clothes he’d brought me, that I was having such... crazy, un-feminist thoughts like, wouldn’t it be nice to eat lobster and sleep on clean sheets in a nice room with nice clothes?
I was furious at myself for putting on the white underwear with red lace, admiring myself in the mirror, and wondering if he enjoyed looking at me.
I was furious that I almost took off my jeans and shirt and lay there on the bed for him to watch.
Furious that I liked the idea of him watching me.
Furious that I liked the hungry look in his eyes, the bulge of his arteries as he stared at me, the pulse in his cock against my leg.
I mean, seriously.
What the fuck was wrong with me? This guy was a maniac and I had been kidnapped, and he had a bunch of creepy tattoos and he was Russian or something, and I was going to die if I didn’t play my cards right.
What I didn’t get was why I was being allowed to just lounge in this room with movies and books and lobster.
Finally, I managed to drift off.
I was lying on my stomach when I heard the door click. I was so tired, I couldn’t open my eyes. My eyelids were like anchors, refusing to raise, and worst of all, I tried to lift my arms, and they were as weighed down as my lids.
My heart raced, but I couldn’t move. I heard him moving closer, so quietly it was no more than the faintest rustle.
Had he put drugs in the roll? In the water?
I fought to open my eyes or move, but I couldn’t.
Something warm and dry brushed over my ankle. I was so thoroughly paralyzed I couldn’t even jerk my leg away. The sensation traveled along my calf, up to the back of my knee, where I felt his hot breath, the moisture of a kiss, and the delicious tingle that went straight from my knee to my pussy. I was getting wet; I wanted to move and kick myself away... and I didn’t. I wanted him to continue, and that’s just what he did.
The bed sank a little as he climbed onto it. His lips traveled along the inside of my thigh, barely brushing my skin, igniting it. I quivered inside, unable to move, so that the shudder of delight splashed against the confines of my body like waves in a tank, and the center of my thighs screamed for his touch, for the feel of his tongue.
But it was not to be. I felt his hot breath on my wet pussy, his hands on my bottom, and then his lips moved over my ass, up to my lower back. I could feel his bare skin just above my back, hot, firm, radiating toward my back with him touching me.
Then his breath was on my neck, just like at the strip club. His fingers were in my hair, tightening, pulling me up so that my ear was next to his lips. “I’m going to fuck you, Natalia,” he growled. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
There wasn’t, but I wasn’t thinking of that with quite as much sorrow as I knew I should. He pushed my legs apart with his knees and slid my limp body back by the hair, until I was folded over with my chest on the bed and my bottom in the air.
I couldn’t see, but I could picture him there, on his knees, his hard cock in his hand as he arranged me in that submissive pose. I was so close to feeling him inside of me, and my pussy was throbbing, anticipating the sharp pain, the rounded fullness, the dull ache finally satisfied as he pounded into me from behind.
His cock was warm and large as he rubbed it over my clit, and I tried to gasp but could not even do that. He began to push forward, and my eyes rolled back in my head as the first few inches of his thick cock pushed me open—
Click-click.
Everything around me faded. I could move my body suddenly, and I sat up, finding a light gray light pervading the room.
Early dawn.
No one there.
My pussy still ached as though my dream had been real.
And the door was sliding open.
He was there—as big and muscular as I remembered, a scowl on his face. But man, what a face.
Stop it.
My heart pounded, and I clutched at the duvet as though I were naked, before realizing that my clothes were still on, and I was actually hot, sweating beneath my shirt.
And wet, embarrassingly enough, in other places as well.
The dream had seemed so real I could actually feel his lips on the back of my knee, which made me blush as he stepped into the room.
“You didn’t eat,” he growled.
Maybe I was a little out of sorts because I just woke up. Maybe the lingering dream messed with me, and maybe I was having an e
pisode from low blood sugar. Maybe all those things combined together, because my resolve from the night before had gone straight out the window.
“No,” I said defiantly. “And I’m not going to, either, until you tell me just who you are and what the hell you are doing with me.”
It was a pretty stupid thing to say, and I regretted it instantly. I mean sure, I might be able to resist eating, but what was I going to do if he was like, ‘okay’ and walked off and let me starve?
He stepped into the room, and the door closed. He said nothing, simply put the lids on the plates of food with an unnerving—okay, terrifying—calm.
My stomach turned icy again, and my bottom felt hot as I remembered where this kind of sass had gotten me before.
“Do you imagine, Natalia, that you are in any position to give me an ultimatum?” he asked, looking at the polished plate cover for a second before shifting his gaze to me.
I froze.
Of course not, of course I wasn’t.
But I’d already thrown down the gauntlet. What was I supposed to do? Say I was sorry? Cave in?
I reminded myself that my plan had in fact been to do just that.
But instead of saying something like that, I jutted my chin out, opened my mouth, and said:
“Maybe not. But you can’t make me eat.”
His jaw flexed, and a moment of frightening silence passed.
I was getting under this guy’s skin, and I knew I had better back off.
“I can make anyone I wish,” he growled, “do anything I want, Natalia.”
Something twisted inside my chest.
I stared at him.
“I’m not eating,” I said quietly.
He moved with such calm toward me that I didn’t have the sense to so much as flinch. Someone walking toward you like that seems more like a person about to tell you bad news, or take your drink order, or something like that.
So when he lunged like a panther, out of nowhere, and picked me up suddenly and with such ease that I went flying through the air and was over his shoulder in less than a second, it came as a total surprise. We were out the door and moving through a dimly lit hallway in no time at all, and a fair bit out of the room before I realized that he was carrying me somewhere.
I squirmed and tried to push myself up, pushing against his back with my fists balled up, but his thick arm just coiled around my legs tighter, and he drew his free hand up to my lower back, and I was as immobilized as in my dream. Sure, I could strain against him and toss my head around a little, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I might as well have been trapped from the waist down in a block of concrete.
I continued to flail for a few moments, screaming obscenities at him, each one stupider than the next, until I realized that I was wasting energy hysterically and I wouldn’t get anywhere. I was sweaty, my arms and back were growing tired, and I wasn’t getting anywhere.
The hallway went on and on, but I couldn’t see much. How big was this place?
He made a sharp turn, I heard another beep, a puff of air, and the sound of a door unlocking, and we entered a dark space, which was frightening enough to make my heart stop for a second.
A light turned on, dim at first, warming up as me moved into the space.
I was in motion again before I got a chance to see anything, turning, hitting something firm but soft and silky on all fours. His hand pushed on my lower back again, and pressed me flat to what seemed like a bed, and he pinned me on either side of my torso with his legs.
I was stunned into silence and started to fight back again, pulling my hands up to push my torso up, even though I could feel that I wasn’t going anywhere. He grabbed my wrists, one at a time, and pulled them firmly but with a bizarre kind of gentleness, up above my head, and I felt something clasp them.
Leather. A leather strap. I looked up at my hands through my loose, sweaty hair and caught a glimpse of the device he was securing around my wrist. A thick leather strap, with a soft velvety inside.
Up went my other hand. I was still pinned between his thighs, his body weight lightly on top of my ass, and my options, I could tell, were running out.
“What are you doing?” I screamed.
His fingers worked their way to the hips of my jeans, one hand finding the button at the front by slipping beneath me, and then the jeans were coming off, peeling away, down my legs.
I couldn’t kick until he pulled them free of my feet. I paused too long—not that I knew what to do anyway—and he was back on me, his weight hovering just above my knees.
His hand moved to the silk of the underwear—the only thing between him and my bare bottom. The imprints of his firm spanking were still sore to the touch. Heat rose to the surface of my skin and gave me a shivery reminder of what he had done to me at Kitty Bang Bang, and again here.
And my body betrayed me again—it already had, just from the dream, but it continued to do so, my pussy throbbing, my juices welling up and into the new panties.
I dropped my head to the silken bed and turned it to the right. Shadows moved through the partial view to my right, where I saw a sight that made me freeze, my heart cold as ice: straps, belts, whips, and paddles, hanging from the wall, their use very obvious.
And his hand, the veins over its wiry muscle, selecting a strap of thick black leather.
“Wait,” I panted.
The leather was out of sight now, and then, cool against my skin, sliding over my shoulder, then back down my back, snaking over my body from shoulder blades to knees. I couldn’t help a twitch as it passed gently over the silk underwear, and the raw skin beneath it. My pussy throbbed again.
He said nothing, but the leather continued to play over my skin. I closed my eyes. “Wait, please,” I said.
I knew what I was in for, and I sensed that I could perhaps avoid it—the stinging pain, the throbbing heat, the humiliation of his discipline—by just begging him not to, saying that I would be good, that I would eat whatever he wanted me to.
But something stopped me from saying any of that. I couldn’t tell if it was pride, or defiance, or—and I didn’t let this thought surface in my mind, not really—was it that I wanted him to discipline me, to spank me into submission, to make my bottom red and my face flare with humiliation, and then get me to get on my knees and beg him to let me eat from his hand?
I squinted my eyes closed, unable to believe my thoughts went there as the leather strap moved playfully, frighteningly, over my skin.
“I’m disappointed, Natalia, that you haven’t yet learned your lesson,” he said smoothly.
He swatted my ass lightly through the underwear. It was a mild sting, just enough to make me gasp, and for my bottom to warm in a streak—and enough to make my pussy drip into the soaked underwear and trickle onto my thighs.
He swatted me again, this time harder, and I gasped audibly. The sting was intense, and it burned on my bottom, but also like a shot of whiskey in my chest. My eyes grew involuntarily watery.
“Do you know what your lesson is, Natalia?” he said, his hand moving over the underwear, sliding along the hem, rough pads of strong fingers just barely skipping along the line of the underwear and into my wet thighs.
I cringed as my body involuntarily rose toward him, pushing against him but only to aid him, as his finger slipped under the hem of the panties and brushed along the soaked outer lip of my pussy. A feathery touch, suddenly withdrawn, almost as if he were angry as I was that he had found me gushing into the underwear.
I heard him suck in his breath, and his thighs tightened against my knees, forcing my right leg to cross over the top of my left calf, making my butt rise to avoid him squeezing too painfully.
He ripped the panties away, and I felt for a moment the coolness of the room against my exposed ass, felt humiliation wash over me as I pictured myself there, tied face-down at the wrists, my ass upturned to his gaze, my legs squeezed between his as he looked down at my wet pussy between the streaks of red from his last spanking.
The strap came down with a sharp, burning bite to emphasize the end of each declaration. “I am. The one. Who tells you. What you will do. Not. The other. Way. Around.”
The pain was so intense that my eyes were streaming tears, and I was stunned into silence until he stopped. I tried to find my voice to tell him to stop, that I would listen, but he laid another slap across my bottom, crisscrossing my bare skin with the emphasis of his words.
“Do you understand me, Natalia?” he growled.
“I do,” I managed to say. “Please. Stop. I do, I understand,” I squeaked.
The insides of my thighs were wet with my juices. My face burned.
His hand moved in a gentle caress over my bottom, and then he squeezed my sore flesh. Heat throbbed into the welts, almost as painful as being whipped again. “I have heard this before from you, Natalia,” he said, his voice quiet and stern.
There was a long pause. “And frankly you’re trying my patience,” he said at last.
My nose was running, my face wet with the inescapable tears of pain. “I’m sorry,” I croaked, because now I was just begging, though I knew there was not much point. “I am. This time I get it. I do,” I blubbered.
His fingers fanned out on the center of my ass, and his thumb slid over my asshole, down to my pussy, then back up, dragging my juices with it. My thighs trembled.
“How can I be sure of that, Natalia?” he asked me, his thumb making a circle on my eyelet, sending inexplicably delicious feelings through me, mingled with the humiliation of having a man fondling me so intimately. “How can I be sure you’ve really learned your lesson?”
He was musing, his voice distant, the questions no longer in search of an answer. I knew he was going to give me the answer. I knew that now the only thing to do was submit to him—whatever he was going to do—and I could feel my body almost giving over to that very idea.
Did I want him to? Did I want him to take me like this? I’d imagined anal sex before, bending over to be dominated like this, and I enjoyed the thought of it, but I had never done it before. He wouldn’t... actually...
His for the Taking Page 6