This is part 7 of a 15-part series (click here to red the first blog in the series).
The rage flared and the infuriated victim lashed out, slapping the glass from Natalya’s hand, so it spun off in a spray of champagne. Rose crashed into the table as she squirmed and jerked off his lap, thrusting her left fist towards his face. He blocked with his own left, catching her wrist and turning it over. Rose’s elbow suddenly became the highest point of her twisting body. He smoothed her wrist into his right hand, pulling her arm to pin behind her back. The momentum rolling her: trunk bending, head diving, stomach thumping across his thigh. Seesawing over his left knee with her ass in the air. Glass and ceramic smashing off the table as she kicked out frantically. He switched her wrist back to his left hand and gathered in her flailing lower limbs with his right, clamping them under his steeled leg. Holding her firmly in place, buttocks wobbling as she struggled in vein. Could hear Natalya chuckling. He paused to savour the moment. A carnivore licking his lips, whilst casually deciding what to eat first.
‘Don’t take it personally, my Special Little One.’ The only thing Rose could do was punch uselessly at his ankles with her right fist. ‘Just try to enjoy it. This is the fun bit.’
‘Let me go, you fucking bastard!’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, you bad, little bitch! You still need to treat me with respect. That hasn’t changed.’ Cruel irony mocking in his steady voice.
The fury was bouncing her around on his lap. He tipped her forward to improve the angle, patting her ass-cheeks with his palm as if comforting her. She screamed – whole being twisting up with outrageous frustration. His slaps were building into a rhythm – soft flicks of the wrist, but rapid enough to warm the skin. A patronising, little spanking, as if this was the lightest game in the world. During the struggle, his chair had skipped and turned away from the table, so Natalya moved to set her seat opposite, elegantly crossing her long legs. She’d managed to save his flute of champagne and sipped it as she settled down to enjoy the show.
Rose could feel the predators looking at one another as his hand drew up to hang in the air above. And sweeping down to crash onto her butt with a loud clap. Her impassioned scream was anger more than pain. He scrunched her wrist to pin her in place. Arm rising… and pausing… and swinging… and smacking. A blaze of hot hurt. A third blow. A fourth. A steady rhythm of hard spanks falling from above, spreading the scald across both buttocks. Rose wriggled and wiggled, yelped and swore. Tears of rage and hatred, torment and humiliation.
Natalya sniggered. ‘She loving it! Dirty, little bitch.’
The Russian leant forward to bring her own palm slapping down on Rose’s ass with a harsh sting. Chuckle murmuring contentedly as she sat back to light a cigarette.
‘Fuck you! Let me go! Bastard! Bastard!!!’
The beating continued relentlessly. The hold around her wrist and legs, so utterly immovable: felt like being locked inside an iron frame. As if he were a machine: the mechanical regularity of the blows; the steaming piston-power of their delivery; the robotic coldness of the heartless being dishing them out. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Her ass-cheeks blushing pink, blooming rose, searing red. Scalding and burning… and the steaming rage of the injustice hottest of all. Big, crying sobs convulsing through her body as she screamed.
‘I know.’ He reassured in a gentle, patronising tone, but the strikes kept battering down. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
After a few minutes his hand stopped to hover close to her blazing cheeks… as if warming around the fire. A slim pant after the exertion. Natalya stubbed her cigarette on the sheeny, wooden floor, and leant forward to gloat. ‘You know funny thing? It is you who will help us get away with it. You will help us make evidence.’
‘No! No! Let me go!’
X released her wrist, swung his arm under her body and tipped her off his knee, into a half-squat between his legs. As he twisted her to face him she reared back and attempted to flee. But he dipped his head forward and drove his shoulder into her stomach, knocking the air out and sweeping her off the ground in a fireman’s lift. A dizzying rush of blood to the head. He whisked her across the room like booty from a slave raid. She attempted to fight herself upright, but the strong hand over her buttock tipped her back… and then held her in place as she attempted to clamber down his body. Now beating at his rear with her fists. Natalya smirked a little wave and slunk through to the kitchen, whilst he carried Rose into the hallway. She grabbed the doorframe, yet couldn’t hold on. Same with the banisters as he took her up the stairs. Pulling up his shirt to scratch her claws into his back… and shouting:
But there was no one around to hear. The grand four-poster sat centrally along the back wall of the vast master-bedroom. The minimalist furnishings left plenty of open space. Dozens of flickering candles – flames and shadows dancing in demonic romance. A single chain dangled from the rafters in the middle of the chamber. Sex toys arrayed around the sides: weapons, restraints, various imaginative tools of torture. He strolled around to inspect.
‘You’ve done a great job getting this place set up.’
Rose grabbed a candle and jammed it into his back. Fire smelting into the flesh. He flinched, but laughed as she hammered him with the waxy stick. He strode over to the foot of the bed and flung her onto the mattress. Her head swinging through the air and then everything bouncing. She moved fast, rolling sideways, as if making for the en-suite. Wrong-footing him as she veered back in the other direction, scrambling to leap off the bed and make for the landing. Natalya was coming through the door, champagne in hand, so the runner stooped to barge past. The Russian’s empty fist sprang out like a striking serpent, hard knuckles cracking into the cheek. The force of the blow span Rose around, body crumpling onto hands and knees. Flashes of blank, tumbles of dizziness, a shock of her own saliva splatted down her chin.
‘Not the face!’ X called out, cold. ‘Don’t hit her face.’
Natalya grabbed her victim’s hair and yanked, almost ripping it out of the scalp. Everything swirled as Rose was dragged across the room and pulled to her feet. Right hand wrenched upwards and clipped into the hanging cuff. She tried to keep her left arm crooked, but the Russian was stronger, driving it up into the restraints. Rose had set up the chains in front of the giant wall-mirror, so she could see herself dangling from the ceiling. Forced to teeter on tiptoes as the tight, metal bonds dug into her wrists. Could feel her torturer’s warm breath on the back of her neck as the apron was untied, pulled off and cast away. Natalya slapped her ass playfully.
‘It’s cute when you try to fight.’
A wince of humiliation. X was bringing the leg-locks over. Rose had worn them before – designed to keep the legs straight, by wrapping around the knees, the top of the calves and the bottom of the thighs. He held the victim’s legs together whilst Natalya slid the device on and clamped it in place. The bony-plastic material was inflexible, so it was impossible to bend her knees. If she wanted to kick, then she’d need to use both feet… and end up flapping about like a fish on-deck. The predators prowled around to link loosely in each other’s arms before their suspended victim. Their slotted postures all slant and curl. Dark eyes gleaming with triumph and excitement. Rose screamed in their faces.
‘Let me go!’
‘I thought you were looking forward to this bit?’ He teased with infuriating mock-innocence. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it.
‘If you really want to skip the fun part, then all we need is for you to read this out… into a recorder.’
He held the paper up in front of Rose’s face and she read the words through teary eyes. Horror building as she realised their plan. Oh my God! No way! She couldn’t say that. No! No way!
‘No!!!’ She howled.
The skin of a smile stretched over his ruthless face. ‘Knew you wouldn’t want to skip the fun bit.’