The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

"I know. I'll take care of it." He disconnects. I stare at the door and frown. She'll answer to him for this, but she already knew it was a risk she took. She loves him, and she knows what he expects if she's part of our group, but he loves her, too. He'll spank her ass, but she's gone through worse. I sigh.

In short, Larissa might prove to be a wrinkle in my plan.

I order food and wait for it to come before I go in to my little captive. Naked and hungry, perhaps she'll cooperate with me. Deprivation from the basic necessities often weakens people.

I stand, scowling at the wrinkled clothing I slept in. I need food, a shower, and coffee.

I school my features when I open the door to the bedroom, not sure what I'll find on the other side. She cried the night before, but she's a strong one.

When I open the door, she's awake. Staring. And so beautiful, something inside me aches to touch her soft, vibrant curls, her silky skin.

"Sleep well?" I ask her with mock interest, as if she's my guest on vacation.

"Like a baby," she quips. "I think I slept about as well as you did."

I give her a sharp look, but her face remains impassive.

"I'll uncuff you and let you use the bathroom," I tell her. "Then you may eat breakfast before we talk."

I'm twice her size and at a significant advantage, so I expect she'll behave. I retrieve the key to her cuffs from my pocket and slide it into the lock, giving her a warning look that dares her to defy me when she has this little bit of freedom. The cuffs open, her arms swing free, and before I can register what she's doing, she slaps her hand across my face so hard my head reels back from the blow.

"You lying bastard," she spits. On instinct, I reach for her wrists and capture them. Anger surges in my chest at her defiance, even as I register surprise. She seemed complacent and intelligent. Striking a man twice your size who has you at his mercy is blatantly stupid. The urge to retaliate in kind flares within me, but I quickly contain my anger. I'll choose humiliation and chastisement in favor of mere violence. I sit heavily on the bed and drag her across my knees belly-down. My cock presses into her belly, excitement arousing me at the knowledge of what I'm about to do.

Pinning her wrists to the small of her back, I keep my voice calm and stern, like a father scolding an errant child.

"So soon, you wish to see what happens to little girls who defy?" I ask her, almost amused. She's so small and feisty, she reminds me of an irate little fairy, stomping her foot in a fit of rage. She wriggles helplessly, kicking her legs in protest, as if she already knows she's about to get a spanking she'll remember for a good long while. I like that she's fighting me with all that she's got.

"Let me go!" she squeals, perfectly timed to introduce the first stinging smack from my palm.

"Ow!" she howls. It’s almost cute.

I spank her again and again, letting my palm fly in punishment. My handprint blooms bright pink against her pale white skin, but I don't take the time to admire my artistry. I continue her firm punishment with masterful precision while I lecture her.

Smack.

"You will not raise your hand to me again."

Smack.

"You will behave yourself in my presence."

Smack.

"Defiance will be met with punishment."

Smack.

"If you behave like a child, I shall punish you like one."

I spank her until she slumps over my knee and whimpers.

"Mne tak zhal!" she wails in apology. I pause, my hand raised. There's an air of familiarity to this that surprises me. I blink, trying to understand my reaction, why her apology makes me stop her punishment so swiftly, but I don't know why. Instead, I scowl at her, still suspended and helpless over my knee.

"Will you ever raise your hand to me again?" I ask in a corrective tone.

"No, sir," she sniffles. My cock stirs with approval at her submissive response.

I run my hand over her flaming hot skin.

"I'm glad you learned your lesson," I say with approval. "Sadly, you've already lost your freedom." I stand her in front of me and snap the cuffs on her wrists in front of her. "Go stand in the corner of the room while we wait for breakfast." I point to the corner sternly. Her eyes widen in surprise, but the flush of her cheeks tells me she's temporarily chastened. Hanging her head, she obeys.

If I'm to keep a beautiful, feisty woman like her as my prisoner, I may not need sterner methods. I could use a cage. I could use whips or other means of inflicting pain. But something tells me I won't have to.