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A disconcerted expression plagued Natasha’s features, a certain knowingness immediately piquing within. This particular look was commonplace, materialising whenever the redhead had witnessed avoidable collateral damage. It always had a profound effect upon her, though she would never admit such a feat. The woman standing before you was incomparable to the one that you had encountered when you first met her, callous, unsympathetic and fresh out of the KGB.
Often times, Natasha would attempt to drown out her sadness with various distractions, ordinarily sleep or movies. This time seemed entirely different in nature, darkened orbs finding you and disclosing alternative plans. In the blink of an eye, her clothes became discarded, descending to gather about her feet. Apathy cloaked her visage as she stalked towards you, her shoulder merely ghosting yours as she breezed past, her sights set on the privacy of your bedroom. Curiously, you followed closely behind, observing silently as she settled into a kneeling position beside the bed, meeting your gaze with expectance.
Tears lurked amidst the pale green of her eyes, emotional turmoil piercing through as you forced her to her feet, rebuffing her intention. Your face screwed inwards with concern, searching her for an explanation, for some confirmation that she had thought this through. Natasha’s head shook with an unwavering avidness, hands batting you away as she pried herself from you, sinking back down to her knees.
“I want you to hurt me,” she admitted, shakily. “Do whatever you want,” she added. “But do not go easy on me… please.”
A contemplative air possessed you, fingers caressing softly against the crown of her head. Natasha flinched in repulsion, the gentleness of the exertion unwelcome as she shifted to avoid the contact.
“Are you certain?” you asked, suspiciously, an inward conflict erupting as you glanced towards the broken woman before you, not wanting to incite further suffering.
Eagerly, Natasha nodded, her seriousness reiterated as she gathered the courage to meet and retain your eye line. Sighing, you made the decision to yield to her as you often did.
“Over my knee,” you instructed, sternly, the ambience of the room immediately darkening along with your demeanour. “Don’t make me wait.”
Natasha practically leapt from her position, climbing onto the bed with an unrivalled enthusiasm, a shudder of anticipation passing over her naked frame.
“Pathetic little thing,” you cooed, patronisingly as your hands skimmed lightly across the plump cheeks of her ass, her skin painfully smooth.
The spankings commenced with unequivocal callousness, a series of ruthless slaps thrown against her ample flesh. A deep red hue decorated her ass with vigour, the white outline of your handprint burning into her as if she had been branded. Yours.
“Yes, Daddy!” Natasha exclaimed, zeal all but oozing from her voice, though partially muffled from her ragged breathing. “Harder, please.”
Her boldness induced the formation of a sinister smirk, your hand moving to slam harshly against the back of her thigh. The redhead breathed in a sigh of what appeared to be relief as the pain registered, the reaction only spurring you on. You basked in her submission, reaching out to yank at her scarlet tresses as pained moans flew out from her mouth. Wandering digits paused to inspect her pussy, unsurprised to find that arousal was building here in abundance, almost leaking out and smearing against her inner thighs.
“Filthy whore,” you spat, cruelly, a laugh emitting as you felt her cinch around your probing digit, quick to retract it. “So fucking wet from being spanked, hm?”
Natasha mewled mindlessly, her ankles knocking together as she wrangled with her self-control to no avail. She thrived from being at your mercy, every single touch to be permitted and extended only by you. In haste, you twisted your hand into a claw, fingernails raking from her spine to her ass, crimson trails etched in their wake. The redhead’s shoulder blades flexed at the new sensation, a sharp sting flitting across her skin as her hips bucked with growing impatience.
“Did I say you could move, slut?” you barked, grinning menacingly as you felt Natasha relax, acquiescing with a grunt of disapproval.
A state of complete docility found her, your hands smoothing over the handprints that lingered upon her ass, their warmth dulling the sting a little.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Natasha apologised, breathlessly, the words falling out of her almost as an afterthought as she succumbed to your rigorous exploration of her.
“Oh, you will be,” you warned, a painful smack reinvigorating her skin with scarlet. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Incoherent mumbles fell from Natasha’s open mouth, stifled considerably from the way she shoved her face into the mattress below. Slender fingers prodded at her wet pussy, only to toy torturously with the liquid that exited there. Sheer frustration festered within her, every warning you had extended seeming to fall on deaf ears as she fidgeted, seeking to capture your fingers inside of her. Mockingly, you let out a hearty chuckle, withdrawing all contact until she halted her misbehaviour, crying out desperately in response to your denial of her.
“Daddy, please,” she pleaded, defeatedly, her energy dwindling along with her patience as she exerted a sterling effort in appealing to your sympathy.
“Do you really think you deserve to be touched?” you challenged, harshly, a teasing finger running the length of her slit. “Do you?”
The assassin frustrated in place, sobs erupting from her and forcing her chest to jolt upwards. A part of you felt sorry for her, though the rest of you marvelled at her condition, at the mental strength that she possessed.
“No, Daddy,” she squeaked, her voice barely audible through the rhythmic obstruction of her cries.
“What are you?” you asked, forcefully, your thumb plugging her pussy as her walls adjusted to the intrusion, immediately attempting to suck it in further.
Natasha’s hands grappled violently with the bedsheets below, drawing in fistfuls of the material as she tried desperately to adhere to your rules. A carnal growl escaped her, clutching onto the last strands of self-determination as best as she could.
“I’m a filthy whore, Daddy,” she panted, a high-pitched squeal freeing from her when you yielded and lodged your thumb deeper inside of her. “I’m yours to use however you want.”
You simpered with undeniable sadism, her disheveled state only fuelling your need to completely debase her.
“That’s right,” you conceded, proudly, reiterating the statement with another blow to the back of her thighs as she rasped out into the air.
Hastily, you hauled her upwards and onto your lap with distinct force as you made quick work of the zipper upon your pants. The large strap sprung free of its hiding place, a shameless mewl falling from Natasha’s full lips once she had caught sight of it. Her hips found home in your hands, the lengthy appendage tapping against her entrance until you forced her to sink down upon it. You didn’t buck, nor move an inch, your face merely drawing forwards to take one of her nipples into your mouth, laving saliva atop the hardened bud.
“Such a little slut,” you remarked, daring to deliver a little thrust and observing with amusement as it sent her into a state of spiralling hunger. “Stay still or stay desperate. You decide.”
Tactfully, your digits lowered to torment at her clit, toying languidly as she exerted every effort to stay controlled.
“Fuck,” Natasha whined, surprised to find that she remained still, your threat looming overhead. “Daddy, it feels so good.”
The focus that cloaked her was unparalleled, lip clamped harshly between her teeth as her features twisted in utter helplessness. Her body screamed out in desperation, for some form of friction, for movement, for release. Still, she did not disobey you.
With your fingers still circling her clit, you reached forwards and suckled a few marks into her neck, pulling back to appreciate your handiwork.
“All mine,” you sneered, possessively as her eyes fell to half-lids, submitting to the pleasure that you were allowing her.
“Yes, Daddy,” she sobbed, her pupils blown as she fought to hold your gaze, staring deeply into your hungry eyes. “I belong to you.”
The reiteration of your ownership rendered you weak, empathy kindling inside of you as you began to quicken your ministrations. Vigorously, you rubbed at her clit, occasionally slowing to squeeze at a breast as you willed her towards a release. The strap remained unmoving inside of her and you had been impressed by her compliance. Her hands rested upon your shoulders, exerting a deathly grasp upon you as she jostled for leverage, your touch lending itself to the possibility of a collapse. Predictably, she fell forwards, her head lolling against your shoulder as you traced her clit with avidity, her breaths ragged and noisy as they filled the air.
“Move and I’ll stop,” you threatened, bucking your hips upwards as a strained cry escaped from her. “Desperate whore.”
“Oh, fuck, Daddy,” Natasha wailed, tears beginning to re-emerge within her eyes, threatening to spill out and adorn her rosy cheeks.
With her orgasm on the horizon, you began to pound the strap into her. Paired with the constant caresses upon her clit, she was bound to ascend in no time. Each thrust was punctuated by a whorish moan courtesy of Natasha, all shame and inhibition forsaken at the front door on her way in. The assassin’s breasts bounced in your face, occasionally catching a nipple in your mouth and running your teeth against it.
“Come for me,” you commanded, your arm encircling around her as you upped the pace, a reckless speed persisting as her ragged breath rained over you. “Come all over Daddy’s strap.”
“Daddy!” Natasha erupted, shuddering as her orgasm washed over her, all-encompassing in the moment, her body falling limply against the firmness of your chest.