Page 30 of From Russia With Blood

The doors open, and I fling myself out into the hall, barely looking at the man scanning armbands. I don’t give a fuck about him. I only care about one person right now. Once he gives me the go-ahead, I enter the play space but catch no sign of her. If she’s not here, where can she be? My throat seizes up at the thought of her in Luka’s bed.

What if he’s killing her right now? What if he’s doing the same thing to her that he did to Gloria? True, there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him, but I know that he did it deep down in my gut. I don’t care what the therapist said. Evidence or no evidence, he’s the guy. Stopping by the area with all the toys, I grab several hanks of rope, needing something to restrain him since I don’t have my cuffs on me.

I scan my band so they can bill me and proceed on my mission. Raucous laughter and moans fill the space as I weave in between the playing couples. Sweat pours down my face as I stare down every woman that looks even close to Katrina or any man that looks like Luka.

“Hey bud, you don’t look too good. Really pushing that two-drink maximum, huh?”

Satan looms over me, his cartoonish horns at odd angles on his head. His angel trails after him, a giggle on her lips. I don’t answer to this man. Shoving him out of the way, I continue to stalk through the space. I didn’t see her in the main playing area, and I turn back to head out when a soft scream catches my attention.

The way my balls draw up tells me it’s her. I don’t know what made her scream, but I’m going to kill them and string up their body with their entrails. As I make my way to the sound, the malicious part of me hopes it’s Luka. He just needs to give me something, anything. I will kill him with my bare hands.

Her frame is tiny, tucked into the small alcove. It’s no wonder I didn’t see her the first time. The curtains hang askew as the ship continues to bob about from the storm. It must be really bad, judging from the look on her face. What small part is visible to me is etched in fear, from her wide eyes to her lips frozen in a terrified “O.” She doesn’t even see or hear me as I walk up behind her, and that rage that simmers under the surface comes back to the forefront.

How dare she not take better care to know who’s in her surroundings. Did she want to end up dead? Again, the image of Gloria, covered in blood, imposes itself onto Katrina, and I lash out, pinning her between my body and the window. She screams again, but this time, I cut off the sound as I wrap my fingers around her lips. She doesn’t even try to fight back.

Why the hell not? Was she expecting someone to assault her here? Luka? Red tinges my vision, and this time, it’s not Gloria’s blood as usual. Murderous rage fills my being as I drop the rope next to her thighs and wind my fist into her hair. Her breathing is frantic against my palm, and she struggles, but it’s a token form of resistance. It’s not the full-bodied terror of someone trying to get free.

“Expecting someone?” I growl into her ear before nipping the lobe in a rough bite. She squeals around my fingers and starts to pull away from me, but it’s too late now. “Scream, and I’ll slit your throat.” She stills at my words, and a small part of my brain screams at me that I’ve gone too far. It’s swallowed up by the new part of me that wants to see just how hard I can push her.

The storm is indeed bad. Waves start to climb up the side of the ship, sloshing against the window. Katrina vibrates in fear against me with each passing slam of the water. The fact that she’s more afraid of this and not me is mind-boggling. Perhaps she needs a lesson on what the greater evil is.

Clamping my hand around her throat, my cock twitches in time with her racing pulse. It takes every remaining ounce of willpower to not bend her over and fuck her right here. I could. I easily could, but then she’d never learn, would she? With my other hand, I fumble with the buttons on her blouse, cursing her in my mind that she didn’t wear something more accommodating. It’s not even a costume, for God’s sake. Those stupid cat ears aren’t fooling anyone.

It’s as if she’s wearing the most mundane thing with just enough buttons to make it impossible to remove without popping them off. With a roar, I shove her forward and grip the edge of her shirt, pull it over her head, and toss it to the floor with only a button or two coming off. Her hair is a tousled mess, reminiscent of how she looked last night.

Her back is bare, and I realize she’s not wearing a bra. She’s been walking around, parading herself in front of other men without the decency to cover up. Enraged, I reach around to grip her breasts, ignoring her cries and struggles of protest. These are mine. Every inch of her is mine.

The fact that some other fucker probably got a free show makes me all the more desperate to mark her in some way that reminds her who I am. Pulling back, I press my palm in between her shoulder blades and shove her against the wall, letting her upper body rest against the cold glass as I work on her pants.

Lucky for her, she’s not wearing a belt. It’s one less step between me and that cunt I’ve been lusting over all afternoon. Removing my hand from her, I unbutton the garment and tug them off her hips. She isn’t wearing any underwear either. The thought that she prepared herself for someone else embeds itself in my brain and doesn’t let go.

Even if it was for me, there’s no guarantee that someone else wouldn’t have taken advantage. Luka certainly wouldn’t have passed up this invitation. Fumbling with my belt, I undo it and tear it off from around my hips. Her body ripples as the sound of it swishes through the air. I grab it by the ends and fold it in half before sliding my free hand around her waist to tug her ass closer to me.

Were belts on her limits list? A faint buzzing sounds in my head as I try to dredge up the memory. Besides, this isn’t play. This is punishment for all the agony she’s put me through. Even bared to my gaze, cunt glistening, the need to flay her alive fills my body. I’m keenly aware of the other guests playing behind me, and knowing they can see every inch of her delicious body just adds fuel to the fire.

I close the curtains to the alcove with a hard jerk, dousing the small area in darkness. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to having the small candles light the space, but in the meantime, I slide my fingers down her pussy and bring them back coated in her essence. The bitch is really getting off on all this. It takes no time at all to remove my pants and boxers, leaving me in just my shirt.

The tails of fabric slide against my lower abdomen and cock like a lover’s kiss, and I groan as even more blood fills my shaft. My vision clears enough that I can see the curve of her hip. Pulling back, I let the belt fly, smacking her skin with a loud thwack. She jumps and shrieks, her hands instinctively moving behind her to protect her delicate skin.

“Remove your hands, or this next strike goes somewhere much more sensitive.” She whimpers, her soft mewls of distress going down my spine and into my balls. “That’s right slut. Beg. Plead with me to show you mercy.”

“Ple-please, Sir -.”

She’s barely finished with the sentence before my belt flies again. The supple leather jiggles in my hand at the force of contact. She’ll for sure have bruises by the end of the night. Now anyone who sees her naked ass will know she belongs to another, not that I have any intention of letting anyone else see her ever again.

I spank her several more times, each strike harder than the first. At some point, her body becomes limp, her ragged screams turning into pitiful moans. Her inner thighs are coated with her arousal, and soon I’m unable to keep myself from her any longer. I grab a hank of rope and grip the bite, letting it unwind in a dizzying back and forth motion.

I never gave much thought to shibari. It always took too long and had to be just so. I was far more interested in the down and dirty play tactics like primal or pressure points. Now, I regret never adding that to my repertoire. I want more than just a basic scout’s skill. There’s a part of me that wants to strap Katrina down and make her into a work of art.

It’s the same as crying over spilled milk. There’s no point in grousing about it now. Gripping one wrist in my grip, I wind the rope about it, giving it a basic overhand knot. It’s blood-red against her pale skin, and for a brief moment, the thought of her covered in blood makes my cock pulse and my balls ache.

Looking at the window, I spy several tie-off points, and I wonder if it was designed with just this type of scene in mind. Before Katrina can start to struggle again, I tie the wrist to one side of the window and work on the other. She’s surprisingly calm - only shaking when another wave hits the glass. I must have put her deep into subspace with those last several blows because every inch of her is pliant.

Pulling her thighs apart further, I lick my lips as her slick skin glints in the soft lights. It’s enough to drive me mad. I make quick work of the remaining rope and tie one thigh open then the next. Try as she might, she’ll never escape until I let her. My head pounds as I stroke myself a few times.

Hands around her throat, I surge deep into her just as another wave crashes into us. Her scream is guttural, equal parts pleasure, pain, and terror. Fucking her is like coming home, and I can’t see me sharing a connection like this with any other woman. Over and over, I ram into her, keeping my thrusts in time with water. Her ass must be so sore, but I don’t hold back as I fuck her. This is just one more price to pay.

My fingers flutter against the column of her neck as I squeeze and release in time with my thrusts. Her breaths come in gasps the few times I let her breathe, and the power over her is beyond thrilling. This is the monster I knew lurked deep down inside, the one I dreaded ever seeing the light of day. Now, I know he’ll never go back into his cage.