Page 27 of Vasily the Nail

I keep it hovered there long enough for her to do something more authentic to tell me to stop. It’s her actual tank top that I’m about to destroy, after all.

She blinks slowly, nodding her head faintly enough neither of the cameras will be able to distinguish it from natural body movement.

I slice straight through the shirt, leaving the remnants clinging to her like the vests some of the girls at the club like to wear. With her arms above her head, she’s stretched in a way that shows off too many ribs and causes her belly to sink. I know she’s been eating well since she got here. She’s doing surprisingly well with her cooking, considering what Igor’sreported back to me about her knowing even less about cooking than cleaning. She’s just not a girl with much meat on her bones.

The aesthetic works for this moment. This is what she wanted. Perhaps in extremis, but on camera, she’ll look like I’ve been starving her since I got her.

Again, why I’m concerned Tony might send a hit squad on me. But I think I’m safe. Not because I’m protected but because he knows this is now part of the debt and he’ll owe us again, with renewed interest, if he attacks us.

The position also means that the already meager swell of her breasts is non-existent. As much as she’s self-conscious about them, I’ve been enjoying them at night, like they’re this secret between us, mine alone, because they can’t be seen under her clothing. So it fluffs me up even more that this one chance the world has to see them, her position keeps them hidden from anything but my touch.

I position myself to make sure I’m not blocking her chest from the camera and grab one of her nipples, and yes, I feel that soft pad beneath it, so I knead the heel of my palm into it. In my thickest Russian accent and the broken English that my brat sister ratted me out on, I say, “Tony was to sell me girl, but this boy tit. You pack dick?”

It’s a disgusting thing to say. But those things she highlighted were filled with disgusting things.

“No!” she cries out, twisting her spine to get away from me, but the rope is currently high enough that she’s on the balls of her feet. She can’t anchor her feet to do anything more than flail.

And because her highlights were so disgusting, so anathema to anything I would do unless forced to — like at the club, when Artyom decided that I, of all people, would be the best at raping an innocent girl — I spit right on her nipple.

Time stops for a moment as we both watch it dribble down slowly, the mucus thick and slightly opaque, not just from the foam within it but with the coke my respiratory track and gums are lined with. It clings to her, and the cool air in the gym wicks over her. Automatically, that nipple constricts and pushes out, moving the spittle with it.

Still it clings, and she’s contorted enough that it hangs out over her body, the string stretching several inches before the mass of it drips onto the floor.

Fuck, that shouldn’t have been nearly as hot as it was.

“Please don’t,” Ana whispers, but the way her pupils grow in her glittering eyes looks likeplease do, so I spit on her other nipple.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I’ve been concerned about how much interest my dick would have in this. I even have that same straw from Saturday in my pocket because a little coke on the head will perk it right up. But nope, that second glob peaking her nipple is getting me hard.

“Please just let me go,” she begs again with those big doe eyes. No psychedelics this time, so I’m not seeing anything crazy, but her eyes slay me.

The glimmer of excitement in them? Total destruction.

“Let you go?” I snort gruffly. “Is even girl? Did Tony trick me?” With that, I strip her cute rainbow-print shorts off,exposing her ass to the camera behind her. I tied her rope with rungs on it, so it’s just another second for me to drop it a few notches. With a quick lift and reset of her back legs, she can’t do anything except bend over.

I smack both her ass cheeks, enjoying the burn on my palm and the spidering of red beneath her lightly tanned skin. “Let’s see what you are,” I say with a laugh as I grab her thighs and spread the soft flesh, exposing everything to the camera.

Everything.

A couple of comments have already appeared on the computer screen I set up next to that camera. At this, the comment window blows up. I can see the count at the top of the screen; of the 20 invites I sent out, primarily to mafia connections in Phoenix, 8 have entered. I can see where several have already confirmed that Ana is Tony’s sister, but now they’re begging me to walk her back a couple more steps or bring the camera closer.

“You have fans,zvyozdochka. Everyone wants see Tony sister pussy.”

She glances around, her position making it almost impossible to see the monitor, but her eyes go wide when she realizes I’m not just recording, I’m livestreaming. The tears that begin to well are genuine, as is the attempt to shut her legs. “Oh, no,” she whispers.

“Da. This what you want.”

“I don’t!” she says immediately, but I see the bob in her throat, I feel the way her thighs clench again. This is a welcoming pulse from her core. I smell her arousal.

“You smell delicious,zvyozdochka. Good enough to eat.”

Oh yeah, she likes the idea of that. But she didn’t highlight that, not the act nor anything the woman gets to choose. I’m going to take that to heart in my own way because I don’t think it was so much about the acts and who wanted what as it was the mind games that happened.

I grab her by a hank of her thick, black hair, yanking her head up through her arms to bring her closer to my eye level for a moment. “Is good cunt there. I come in it?”

“No! Don’t do this, please?”

“Is fertile cunt?” I ask her, reminding myself to talk with her again about her birth control, just in case she was wrong about what she’s taking and the risk of missing a couple days. I cannot get her pregnant. The Baranov bloodline ends with me.

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