Bratva's Brat (Loftry University Playthings 2)

She tosses a casual glance over her shoulder at Ivan before blowing him a kiss. Red tinges my vision. This little girl is playing with a fire she’s never known before. Tendrils of jealousy wind around my heart as she spits out her conquests. Boys. All of them. It’s clear from the romantic view she holds of their interludes that no one’s actually fucked her like she needed. No one’s ever left her wet and wanting, so desperate to be fucked that she’d sell her soul just to find some modicum of relief. I crack my knuckles as I watch her, biding my time. She’s never known the real power of a Master, but that time is coming soon.

“The only thing I didn’t anticipate was how deeply you have your claws in him,” she continues, tossing her hair about, chin jutted high. “I guess I’d be able to resist a piece of ass if I had a monster controlling me too. What is it? Extortion? Blackmail? You fucking his sister?”

“Eta ovtsa shas poluchet!”

Ivan’s fingers reach out towards Chelsea’s neck. For a split moment, I wanted nothing more than to see the light go out in her eyes. Just for the briefest of seconds. He wouldn’t kill her, but he’d definitely set the fear of God in her. I can’t let him have that control. It belongs to me, and only me.

“Enough, Ivan. Save your threats. They’re pointless when one is just too stupid to live.” Chelsea opens her mouth, no doubt to deliver another scathing retort, but I’m done with her nonsense. “Take her to the dungeon and strap her to your chair. I’ll join you both later.”

As Ivan’s hands enclose around Chelsea’s arms, a shimmer of fear flashes through her eyes. Good, maybe this upcoming lesson will actually stick. As the door slams shut, Sasha wanders over to me, her soulful eyes such a close match to Chelsea’s. Snuffling at my hand for a moment, she looks between the door and me, a soft whine scratching from her throat. At least the dog likes her. That’s got to be a point in her favor.

Scratching her behind the ears, I return to my desk and pull out a glass. I pause, debating the intelligence of having a drink before dealing with my little hellcat. As I open my freezer and sift through the bottles, I spy my unopened Beluga Gold Line in the back. Tonight doesn’t need finesse. Tonight, I need something cheap and hard. With a grimace, I pull out a half-drunk American label and fill half the glass up.

Pulling out Chelsea’s folder, I skim through the details, taking a sip every few lines. Not much surprises me or gives me any insight into what makes her tick. Flipping back to the front, I read through what put her into The Society to begin with. A smile crosses my face as a plan formulates. This punishment will knock a few birds out with one stone.

Polishing off the rest of the glass in one gulp, I grab the folder and make my way to the door. Both dogs jump up to follow me, their agitated barks only getting more frantic as I command them to stay. Sasha pushes against me, her paws scrabbling at the door. Hell. If I can’t even control my dogs, how in the hell will I gain control over this brat?

* * *

The tasteof her fear is palpable as I ease my way into the dungeon. Not surprising. I created this space for the sole purpose of driving fear into the hearts of those that defy me. I watch Chelsea through the two-way mirror as she writhes against the roughened leather. This room was made for monsters, and yet, my succulent brat looks right at home here.

Her terror permeates the room, adding yet another layer to the psychic dissonance. If these walls could talk, she’d probably be dead with fright by now. Luckily for her, she’s too important to kill. But that doesn’t mean her blood might not end up adding yet one more stain to this hovel.

The dimmed lights cast all sorts of shadows on the walls. Her eyes dart about as they flit through the space then vanish into the ether. Got to hand it to Ivan. Creating a lamp that swings with just the slightest breeze was genius. It creates monsters where none previously were. Even with less than ideal lighting conditions, I see every tremble, every hitch of breath. How much longer should I toy with her? Glancing down at my watch, I figure it’s been long enough. She’s lasted over an hour without losing her shit completely. That should count for something.

“Go get your piercing kit,” I whisper to Ivan. “And wear your work clothes.”

He stares at me for a moment, no doubt thinking I’ve lost it completely but assents with a slight nod. Maybe I have finally lost it, but deep down, my gut tells me this brat won’t succumb to mere words. According to her file, she’s been a submissive of The Society for a few years now. If what she’s seen hasn’t convinced her to act right, nothing but sheer terror will put her in a better frame of mind.

Smiling as I watch her limbs flail about in a frantic attempt to get loose, there’s a small part of me that hopes I’m wrong. I need her to submit, yes, but I hope she’s strong enough not to break. I just need her mailable to my will. I stiffen as Ivan enters the room. Chelsea’s wide eyes are locked into every movement.

Counting down in my mind, I give him ample time to start his psychological warfare. It’s one of the things he’s perfect at. He’s the only man I’ve known to get hardened criminals to confess before he even touches them.

Chelsea is not immune. Her eyes eat up her face as she watches him - flinching with every movement he makes. She still has the towel wrapped around her, which is a pity, but it will make the removal all the more fun. Lacing my fingers together, I turn my palms out to crack all my knuckles at once before slipping into the darkened room.

Smirking, I note the myriad of stains covering his apron. Most of them are blood, highly recognizable, and not easy to miss. Noting the hitch in her breath, it’s clear she’s noted every single one she can see. No doubt her brain is concocting wild stories about how each of those stains came to be, and what kind of a monster, as she so eloquently put it, would I be if I revealed that this particular apron came from a butcher’s shop and not used in any of the interrogations?

She huddles into herself as Ivan approaches, a wicked tool of some sort in his hand. The twisted piece of metal glints in the light on its downswing, the bulb showcasing the razor-sharp edge.

“Let’s say we remove her towel and get started, shall we?”

Her head whips about as she searches for me. I melt deeper into the shadows. She claims to have wanted Ivan; well, here’s her chance to get him. He slashes at her a few times, sending her body into spasms. Chuckling, I palm my erection as the first bit of towel is cut away, revealing her breasts.

Taut nipples strain towards Ivan, getting closer to him with each gulp of air. Anger spikes through me as he pauses longer than necessary to admire what’s mine. As if he can sense my ire, he moves lower to cut away the rest of the fluffy fabric. As the bulb dances above her skin, the light catches her glistening mound, sending a shock of arousal through my body.

My cock aches as I stare at her, dumbfounded by her reactions. She’s terrified, that much is certain, but the fact that her pussy is drenched says something else. My little hellcat gets turned on by fear. Oh. This will be fun.

Ivan rips away the remaining shreds, leaving her completely at our mercy.

"You're the first submissive I've ever had to bring down here. Normally, this space is reserved for torture and not for pleasure." I pause, stepping into the light so she can see me. "With someone as willful as you, it seemed fitting."

Her eyes are glued to my movements as I uncuff my sleeve and begin rolling it up. I clench and release my fingers, making my muscles dance for her as I roll it into place. Without missing a beat, I start in on the other cuff, amused by the hitch in her breathing as I reveal my other forearm.

"I did a bit of reading while you were down here."

Twisting about, I grab both the folder and a rusty, metal folding chair. I open the chair and flip it around so that I'm sitting in it backwards but still facing her. From my location, I have an intimate view of her crotch, and it takes every bit of willpower not to lick my lips as I watch her pussy swell with arousal. Her eyes flit from my face to the unassuming manila folder in my hand, completely ignoring Ivan as he prepares his piercing tray.

"Seems to me that edge play is right up your alley." Her gaze shutters, shoving me out. Just as I thought, a raw nerve for me to pluck. "Or do you come at everyone with a knife?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." She grits out, turning her face away from me.

Rising in one, lithe move, I leave the seat and stalk towards her, tossing the folder to the ground. I grip her jaw in my fingers and swivel her head so that she has no choice but to look at me. Anger blazes in her eyes as she squirms about, trying to break free of my grasp. I pinch harder, not caring one bit that her delicate flesh might bruise under my brutal touch. She asked for this - demanded it - and what kind of a monster would I be if I didn't give her everything she asked for?

"Should I read it out loud? Or do you suddenly remember?" Her lips pull back in a silent snarl. "Very well."

Letting her chin go, I walk over to the part of the wall still covered in shadows. I don't need the light here. I know every implement, every nook and cranny of this place. Even if I were struck blind tomorrow, I'd know just where everything was. Skimming my fingers over the toys, I debate what I should pull out first from my back of tricks. She took the whip well, not to mention the brutal sodomizing. For her to withstand that, most of these would be toys to her, not an actual deterrent. Smiling, I move over to the right, unerringly finding what I'm looking for.

"Last chance, Lastachka. Do you want to tell me what's in that folder? Or should I refresh your memory?"

Ivan pauses at his station, giving me the nod that his part of things is ready to go. I'm sick of playing these petty games. Enough is enough. Stepping in front of her, I stare her down for a moment before flinging the metal chair across the room. She flinches but holds firm. Interesting. Bringing up my implement, I trail the leather tails up her stomach and over her breasts. The tell-tale shiver sends a mirroring one down my spine. Here, she's completely at my mercy. No John Anderson looking at me, judging my every move. No members of The Society gawking at just how well my little spitfire can take pain. Just her, Ivan, and me. I want to send Ivan away, but he has a very important job to do before he can leave.

"When your master asks you a question, you answer. This is the only time I'm warning you. After this, on your own head be it. I'll repeat myself. Care to tell me what I found in your folder?"

"Dean Anderson's wet dream?"