This is part 9 of a 15-part series (click here to red the first blog in the series).
Natalya’s black pupils flooded her eyes. She loved seeing her victim’s face crinkling up with that kind of fear. Dabbing her long tongue in to taste a salty tear. The pain crackled as the gloves squeezed tight around Rose’s breasts and twisted. A sizzling burn grinding itself into the flesh. The torturer rolled her hands either side of the bosom and then ripped them back, tearing along the skin. Rose howled, attempting to squirm away, but she was gritted in place. Natalya’s red lips coming down to plant a kiss just below the eye: sucking up the skin to drink more tears. Rubbing her rough hands all over soft breasts. Pain stinging and biting as the coarse material scoured. Agony as she twizzled the nipples: shingled fingers shredding the nerve-endings.
The torturer looked like she was making love: strong body slunk languid; expression misting; eyelids fluttering serenely; purring sexual pleasure. Sighing with delight as Rose squealed and wriggled. Natalya occasionally slicing side-glances towards her collaborator. He sat with legs swept wide. The thrust of his big cock chafing as it tried force its way out of his trousers. The pain was excruciating as the Russian pinched and scratched. Circling her hands over the bust, as if scrubbing a car bonnet. Burnishing all the flesh, right up to the neatly taped margins – polishing everything in pain. Natalya disengaged and strode around her sobbing victim. Slashing her talons over the upper back, scraping and scouring. The force thrust Rose’s breasts forward to wobble in the air like blancmanges and he clapped and cheered appreciatively.
‘You see what I do?’ Cupping the breasts from behind and juggling. ‘I will paint you a tube-top and some little, pink hot-pants… right onto your skin.’
She grabbed two fleshy handfuls of ass-cheek and scrunched, grinding the sandpaper in. The victim yowled as Natalya slid the gloves up and down over the buttocks. Pursuing Rose’s tottering twists and turns, grating harsh palms down the sides and fronts of the thighs. Friction scorching as if she were on fire. The performing torturer looked across to her enraptured audience and smiled seductively. Dancing like a stripper as she lowered into a swaying crouch, scathing circles around the cheeks as if shining a pair of baubles. Pain seethed over the upper legs. Colouring in the whole un-taped area, except for the pussy.
‘Your pussy already pink, so don’t need to do that. Ass-cheeks pink from the spanking, but I do those again… to properly bring out the colour.’
The torturer sheened the inside of the clamped thighs, by squeezing her hand between and sawing mercilessly. The tears were almost fountaining out of Rose’s face now. The tormented areas singing with hot, clean pain. But they still weren’t pink enough, so Natalya carried on diligently. He sat in the chair, watching… teasing, flirting and making compliments. At one point, he went downstairs to get more alcohol – returning with the complaint that the waitress had spilt most of the champagne, but the happy news there was still plenty of red wine. The Russian briefly switched to using a wooden tool-handle covered in sandpaper. He congratulated her thoughtfulness as she returned the implement to a see-through plastic bag.
After conscientiously ensuring everything was coloured, Natalya unwound the tape and removed the leg-straighteners. Looking down to survey her handiwork with a critical eye: a writhing, sobbing wreck with an ink-splotched face… the outline of little, pink hot-pants and tube-top seared into her white body. The artist strode around to scrutinise from every angle. The effect was exquisite: the surface of the skin scrubbed away to leave a glossy, flushed sheen… almost translucent in the candlelight. Could feel the heat just looking at it. He came over for a closer inspection, bringing his accomplice a glass of wine and handing her the last half of his cigarette.
‘You’re very talented.’ He remarked. ‘She’s beautiful.’
Natalya shrugged with nonchalant pride, taking an aggressive drag on the cigarette and leaning in to blast the smoke in Rose’s face. She snatched a handful of hair to hold the head up.
‘Don’t cough on me, bitch!’
She glugged a long swig of red wine, filling her mouth and then looming in to spit it over Rose, sploshing over the nose and cheeks to drip down the chin. The tears continued to roll.
‘You’re an artist, my darling.’ He raised his glass and they clinked and drank. But the artist wasn’t finished yet, removing the gloves, slinking over to her bag and returning with a little, green, glass bottle.
X winced with sadistic empathy, shaking his head at Rose. ‘Safe-word?’
Natalya’s erotic, red lips blew cruel kisses. After unscrewing the bottle-top, she thrust her palm into the delve at the bottom of Rose’s back, pushing the victim’s bust forwards, teetering on her toes.
‘No, please!’ She didn’t know exactly what was coming, but it wasn’t going to be anything nice.
The torturer purred as she poured the lime juice over her victim’s glossy, pink breasts. The agony was shockingly exquisite – a bright, searing sheet consuming Rose’s chest. The sandpaper had prepared the pain receptors to explode into overdrive as the acidic liquid made contact. Everything white-hot: seething and sizzling. Rose screamed like never before. Natalya splashed juice over the back as well. The acid had no effect on unburnished areas of skin, so the excruciating contrast cut straight and clean. The Russian’s bare hand clamped up under Rose’s pussy, billowing her ass-cheeks out behind. Drenching the buttocks in lime as they jiggled helplessly. Another stinging blaze. Natalya emptied the bottle over her victim’s lap and tossed it away. Her hands were made of fire, rubbing around to lather everything in scalding heat. Felt like Rose was wearing shiny, hot metal… and she danced like that as well. They both laughed.
‘Soft, little bitch!’
Natalya marched over to where the weapons were arrayed, quickly selecting the crop and using it to cut up the air on her way back. No! That’s just too much. The agony was immense already. Couldn’t take any more. The Russian hooked her left pincer around the pussy, bulging out the buttocks again.
‘Nicely, roasted rump. Perfect for slicing bacon.’
The crop rose, pointing vertically upwards. Hovering momentarily to align… and then chopping down, precisely horizontal as it sliced through the rounded tip of both cheeks simultaneously. Felt as if a thin sliver of flesh had been cleaved right off. The intensity of Rose’s howl shuddered the soul – she couldn’t bear anymore. Had to make it stop. But she couldn’t read out the prepared script. The crop cut down again. And a third time. There was no choice. Had to make it stop.
‘You want me whip down through your nipples as well?’
The Russian moved around to push her palm into the base of the back again – thrusting the victim’s bosom up and out. No! No way she could handle anymore. There was no point resisting any longer.
‘No, please! Puggle! Puggle!! Puggle!!!’
The crop whipped down through the nib of the nipple. Rose whooped in pain, but kept screaming the same word. Natalya poised to continue, but he moved to intervene.
‘That’s the safe-word. She’s had enough.’.