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“Hold still,kotenok,” I murmur. “You can come if you like, I know you can’t help yourself. But it won’t take long. I need to come inside of you too badly.”
Natalia makes another low sound in her throat, her head dropping forward as I start to fuck her just as I’d promised, in hard, slamming strokes that steal the breath from my lungs each time I bottom out inside of her. She feels like fucking heaven, like nothing else I’ve ever experienced, like the kind of high that turns a man into an addict, that makes him forget who he is. I thrust into her, again and again, watching her pussy stretch around me, taking every inch of my swollen cock, red and flushed and abused for my pleasure, and it’s only a handful of strokes before I can’t stop the orgasm that I’d already been struggling so hard to hold back.
I throw my head back, roaring with the pleasure of it as I feel my cock explode inside of her, a hot rush of cum that fills her so completely that I see it at the edges of her pink, swollen folds, dripping down her thighs as I thrust into her once more and hold myself there, shuddering against the cage. I can feel her clenching around me, fluttering, and I realize with a rush of satisfaction that I made her come too. Somewhere through the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears, I hear her moaning, and I see her shuddering as she pitches forward, her ass still arched upwards to keep me buried inside of her.
I want to stay there like that, deep inside of her, possessing her entirely. I want her to never be able to think of anything other than me. I know, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I’ve crossed a boundary–like the night I watched her outside of her apartment and stroked myself as I watched her in her bedroom. I know I’m sinking deeper into the obsession that I’ve created with her, that I’m twisting myself up in my own web–but I’m finding it harder and harder to remember why I should let her go.
Why revenge couldn’t end with keeping her for myself.
I pull out of her, gasping for breath, the sight of her swollen pussy dripping with my cum seared onto my mind forever. As she feels me slip out, she collapses against the floor, her eyes closed as she curls into herself, and I feel again the strange pang of wondering if she’s alright.
If I hurt her in any way.
This is about revenge. About hurting her the way she and her family hurt you. Why should you care?
As the fog of jealousy and lust fades, I start to feel a little of the old resolve returning. The satisfaction at seeing Natalia helpless and caged, at my mercy, reminds me of the reasons I’m doing this. Of the need to make her pay for the helplessness inflicted on the ones I loved.
I should leave her in there for a while. Give myself time to cool off, to reassess my plans, to have some space from all of this.
Reaching for the kit beside the bed, I pull out another syringe, this one fuller than the one I’d drugged her with that first morning.I need to get my fucking head on straight.
“No!” She cries out as she sees me reaching for her arm, the needle in my other hand, but I’m quick enough to grab her, and she doesn’t have far to go. I slip the needle into her flesh, and I see the fear in her eyes as the drug enters her vein.
“You’ll sleep for a while now,” I tell her, sitting back on my heels as I watch her face. “I need a break from you,krasotka.I need to remember why you’re here. Don’t worry–we’ll have fun when you wake up. I promise.”
She opens her mouth as if to say something, but the drug is already taking effect. Her eyes flutter closed, and she slumps against the side of the crate.
Natalia
Iwake up dry-mouthed, with a pounding head and a nauseated feeling in my stomach, my entire body cramped from the position I’ve been lying in. As I pry open my sticky eyes, I have no concept of how long I’ve been out for. All I have is a vague memory of the needle going into my arm, and then blackness.
It was asleep without dreams, which feels like a blessing right now.
As I come to, I can tell it’s been long enough that I’m painfully hungry and thirsty. My stomach feels small and cramped, my throat convulsing as I swallow, and I lift my head, looking for Mikhail.
The bedroom is dark and feels empty. I never thought I’d want to see Mikhail this badly again, not after what he’s done to me, but I stare at the door, willing him to walk through it. I feel filthy and hungry and thirsty, and at this particular moment, I think I might do anything he asked if he offered me a shower and food and water. Even admit who I am.
Am I really that weak? Two days, and I’m finished?
I let out a sigh, dropping my head back against the floor, feeling like the caged pet that he refers to me as so often.Kotenok. Kitten.I feel weak as a kitten, small and helpless, and I hate it.
I’m being too hard on myself.I’m not some trained soldier, one of my father’s Bratva men to be able to take deprivation and mental torment without it having any effect on me. I grew up pampered and spoiled, and I lived a life of luxury right up until I had to come back to Moscow after my father’s death, and found myself in very reduced circumstances. The shitty apartment I’d lived in had felt like a far fall from where I’d once been, and this feels so much worse.
It feels like hell–even more so because of the tastes of pleasure that I’ve had, the moments where I forget how truly fucked up all of this is. And then, in moments like this, I remember–and I feel worse than ever for letting myself take any pleasure in anything that’s happened to me here at all.
I nearly gasp with relief when I hear the door click open. I see Mikhail step into the room, flicking on a light, and I blink against the sudden brightness as my eyes adjust while he walks towards me.
He crouches down in front of the door to the cage, looking in at me. “You’re awake, kitten,” he murmurs, reaching through as if he’s going to touch my cheek. I recoil despite myself–I know letting him touch me might please him, but I feel too upset right now to allow it.
“How long was I out?” I croak, looking up at him. He looks fresh and well-rested, dressed in clean jeans and a black button-down shirt, his sandy blond hair falling silkily into his face. A seething wave of resentment washes over me, and I narrow my eyes at him. “A day?”
“Two,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “You smell. I’ll have to clean up after you. You should probably have a shower. But first–”
He reaches into his pocket, and I feel myself flinching back. He laughs as he pulls out another piece of paper, unfolding it so it hangs open in front of my face. “This showed up while you were asleep.”
“Knocked out, you mean,” I mutter, but for once he ignores my smart mouth, pushing the paper closer.
“Read it,” he says sharply, and I do, still blinking away the fog in my vision. It’s a letter very much like the others in what it says, handwritten again this time, and the fear in my stomach curdles all over again.
