When Mistress trained me to be her most effective assassin, she made sure that I also experienced suffering through torture. She told me that I needed to know how this felt: the pain, the suffering, and the complete fucking with the subject’s mind. She got off on seeing me in pain. Got off the same way she did when she slashed and tore up my face.
The little Georgian’s rough breathing slowed down. My eyes traveled the length of her beautiful body. Rope burns tracked over the skin, showing exactly where I had caused her the most pain. Leaning over the bed, I noticed that her hands were bent on the surface, fingernails trying to dig into the bed below. But all I could see was soft skin underneath the marks, her full tits, and, of course, her pussy.
Reaching out, I pressed my fingertips lightly on her calf. She jumped under my touch. Her breathing quickened as I swirled my fingertips up over her knee and along the outside of her thigh.
The female, completely still before my exploration, began moving slightly. Her knee bent as I ran my fingertips along her inner thigh and around the side of her cunt. A breathy moan slipped from her mouth and her stomach tensed at the feeling.
I knew it wasn’t pleasure … yet; I knew it was from the unfamiliar touch of a male. I continued my journey over her stomach until I reached the bottom of her tits. I paused, and flicked my gaze to her face. Her cheeks were flushed. Her previously dull eyes were bright with fear.
Poking out my tongue, I ran the tip along the seam of my lips, slow and wet, watching as she watched me with those wide, virgin eyes. The female’s breathing hitched. Resisting the victorious pleasure I was feeling at how quickly she was reacting to my touch, I ghosted my fingertips over the plump flesh of her left breast. Her red nipple hardened into a small firm point. I circled my finger around and around the nipple, watching as pink skin produced bumps and shivered in my wake.
And I couldn’t look away. Her body was tight and lean. Her tits were full and firm. Her skin was so soft. But it was the look on her face that had my balls aching and my cock rock hard. There was no doubt this female was terrified, but there was something else in her eyes, too. Something yet to be named, as I explored her body with an eager hand. It confused me, because whatever it was, it wasn’t disgust. She wasn’t looking at my messed-up face and over-scarred inked body and hiding away—it was fucking with my mind. It was tightening my damn chest.
My fingers reluctantly abandoned her tit to run up her neck. She froze, her limbs straightening, breathing paused. Suddenly she swallowed as my fingertips walked onto her cheek. Then my fingers stopped. Huge dark eyes were staring at me, long black eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. My stomach tensed. The female’s full lips parted and her warm breath drifted over my hand. Something within me held me captive, as her dark eyes bored into mine.
We stayed that way for a few minutes. Then Mistress’s face flashed in my mind. She was the only female I’d ever touched. And I’d relished every minute of causing the sadistic bitch pain. But not once had I touched her face. Her ugly, poisonous face.
As I ripped back my hand, my eyebrows pulled down in anger. I backed up three steps. I backed up farther, then turned and walked to the room at the back. The minute I was through the door, I growled low in my chest and hit at my head. Reaching into my sweatpants, I gripped my balls tightly, my cock instantly softening with the pain.
Five minutes later, I’d placed food and water on a tray and headed back into the chamber. The Georgian was still on the bed, but her head tipped up and her eyes found me as I walked toward where she lay.
“Sit up!” I ordered. She pressed her palms against the bed and sat up. My nostrils flared as her legs swung over the side, and her thighs fell slightly apart. I forced my eyes up. They narrowed when I saw her body. She’d lost weight.
The female eventually lifted her head. Stepping forward, I placed the tray on the bed. “Eat. Drink!” I ordered.
The female’s eyes flicked down to the tray. I folded my arms across my chest. “Eat. Now!” I ordered loudly. She reached out a shaky hand and picked up the sandwich. She slowly brought the sandwich to her mouth, and all the time I watched her. I never moved. I stayed right in front of her until the sandwich had disappeared and the bottle of water had been drunk.
The female wiped her mouth as I stepped forward and removed the tray. I placed the tray on the floor, then stretched out my arms. The female never took her attention off me.
Inhaling deeply, ready to begin, I edged forward until I was standing in front of her legs. A long strand of her dark hair had fallen over her shoulder. With controlled gentleness, I brushed it back, drifting my finger over her cheek as I did so.
The female stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath. Very slowly, I put a hand on the table at each side of her body. My face invaded her personal space. This close, I could detect the stuttered breathing struggling to pass her pursed lips. I placed my nose against the length of her neck and ran it upward until my mouth was at her ear. “Tell me your name, kotyonok.” My voice was graveled and low and I ran my nose back down her neck, only after I’d called her kitten in my native Russian tongue.
The female whipped her face toward mine, her full lips brushing across my cheek. As soon as her lips pressed against my stubbled skin, she dropped her head and whispered, “Elene.”
Rage burned inside as she continued to lie, but I didn’t allow my face to change. “Elene,” I murmured, my hand lifted to wrap into her hair. She jumped, and I added, “Elene. Elene Melua from Kazrati, Georgia.”
“Yes,” she replied breathlessly. Moving back an inch, I could see the pulse in her neck pounding hard. A bead of sweat dropped from behind her ear as the room temperature began to rise to a bearable heat. Seeing it run over her beating pulse, I flicked out my tongue and lapped it into my mouth.
Her shocked reaction emerged as a confused whimper. And I smirked into her hair, moving my chest closer to hers.
“Elene Melua,” I murmured again into her ear. “So beautiful. Too beautiful for me to hurt anymore. Too beautiful for me to make scream”—I paused, then added, “in pain.” My fingers pressed against the front of her throat as she sucked in a gasp at my words; then they drifted down to her chest.
The female completely stilled. Rubbing my chest against her tits, I eventually moved back and held out my hand. She looked down at my hand and shook her head in resistance. Stepping closer still, my heavily muscled legs pushed between hers. She fought to refuse my entrance, but combating her strength was like swatting a fly—she was nothing to me.