Page 61 of The Lazarov Bratva

Skin there is much more sensitive, and Alena starts trying to anticipate the blows. She pulls slightly in the opposite direction as if trying to lessen the pain of the whip, but she has nowhere to go. Her voice starts to lilt as she counts, rising in pitch as the frequency of my whip begins to increase. She’s utterly at my mercy, and the power trip is completely dizzying.

My next strike flies upward, and all nine tails lick at her pussy as I strike her. Alena rises up onto her toes and screams, tears clinging to her lashes. Her pussy is sensitive, more so thanks to her earlier orgasm, but she needs to learn that no part of her is safe. Everything belongs to me, cunt included.

“Twenty-nine,” Alena yells, “Thank you, Sir.”

Her thanks doesn’t waver, and pride swells in my chest a little. I don’t let up. Time falls to the wayside, and I am consumed with painting Alena in as many strikes as I can manage. Her limit doesn’t matter to me, only my own does, and each strike makes my cock throb. Repeated strikes across her breasts have welts slowly building on top of each other. Her quivering thighs resemble pink and white ice cream, and each whip strike against her pussy brings a special cry from her throat that almost makes me come right there and then. As we continue, a slick sound emerges from each strike to her pussy, and wetness clings to the tails.

Is she turned on?

It’s surprising but not entirely unexpected. She enjoyed our rough play last night, and here she is, soaking up every lick of contact. Part of her enjoys this, even if she isn’t aware.

Soon, Alena is sobbing desperately and pulling at her restraints, but to my surprise, she doesn’t ask me to stop. There’s no begging or cursing, no pleading for a break or anything. She takes every strike. It could be her inexperience, and she’s unaware of her limit, but each time a thank you trembles from her lips, I can’t resist striking her again. For every insult, for every sassy remark, for every glare she sent my way.

By the time we hit sixty, she’s crying openly, and her thank you quavers like leaves in the wind. Her body is a glaring bruise, and red welts weave together in an intricate pattern from her breasts to her thighs. My shoulders ache slightly, and my cock is so rigid that one wrong move and I’ll surely snap.

She pants heavily, and I lower the whip, stepping forward. She trembles constantly. I reach out and grasp one breast, drawing a hiss of pain from Alena. She tries to pull away from my touch, but I grope harder and growl softly. The heat rolling off her body is more intense than I expect, and the welts swell like ridges under my palm.

“Now is when we say sorry,” I say, bringing my face close to hers. Alena lifts her swimming gaze and locks onto me.

“I’m s–sorry, Sir,” she gasps.

“You will be good from now on?”

She nods frantically.

“Do you understand why you were punished?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Because I broke rules, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Alena’s eyes roll back a little, and she whimpers. Praise, I have quickly learned, is like a drug to her. Each time I have granted her such praise, her physical reaction has been obvious, and knowing she has that kink will play well into molding the obedience I desire from her.

The whip falls from my other hand and clatters to the floor. I know I should step away and distance myself, but I can’t bring myself to do that yet. She’s my gravity. I want to bask in her glow for a few more minutes before this moment is over. My hand slides up from her breast to her narrow throat, and I grip firmly enough that her next breath is strained.

Alena lifts her chin and blinks rapidly.

Then I swiftly slide my other hand over the searing heat of her pussy and plunge two fingers deep into her core. She’s utterly soaked, and her body opens easily for me, muscles loose and slick. My brow lifts, and a deep flush spreads across her already pink cheeks.

“You’re soaked,” I breathe out, and Alena whimpers. “You’re not supposed to enjoy your punishments.”

“I’m fucked up,” Alena croaks, and I chuckle dryly.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For enjoying it.”

“Alena… you’re not supposed to apologize for that, but the fact that you did is interesting. You’re fucked up. So am I. Next time you step out of line, I’ll find another way to make you suffer. And this? Well…” I lift my thumb and firmly wipe away some of her tears. “I’ll keep in mind that you like being whipped.”

This wasn’t my goal, but it’s okay. We’re both fucked up. Just as I start to pull free and step away, her pussy clenches tightly around my fingers, and she gasps, catching my eye.

“Please,” she whimpers. “Fuck me. Please, I need–I need to feel you, Sir, please!”

How can I resist?

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