Chapter Eighteen #3
“Up ye get, Natasha. Pee in the cup for me now—aye, that’s it. Good girl.” I grab her arm and pull her to a standing position, and then walk her to the bathroom.
“Take this,” I hand her a medical urine collection cup, “pee in this cup.” She grabbed the cup, and we walked together to the toilet.
She lifts her dress up, and places the cup under her to catch her urine.
“Good girl, Natasha.” She fills the cup up, and then hands it back to me, finishes her business, and then stands to wash her hands.
Once she is finished, she walks back to the room and gets back onto the bed, face up, staring at the ceiling.
She immediately parts her thighs, leaving her pussy on display; she knows what will be taking place with my arrival, smart girl.
I take my time, and place the pregnancy test into her urine, count to ten, and then place it on the counter and set a three-minute timer.
This gives me time to go use Natasha as she was intended to be used.
“Ah, my sweet Natasha. When would ya like t’ be wed, then? We’re needing t’ marry soon, love—can’t have my child called a bastard, now can we?”
Natasha turns her head and looks at me, “How will you know it’s yours? I have different men inside me every hour. There’s no way to tell without a blood test.”
“Ah, Natasha, ye forget—I don’t give a shite what anyone says or feels.
That child’s mine, no question. So tell me, would ye like a fall or winter weddin’?
Or hell, we could find a justice o’ the peace an’ have ourselves a summer weddin’ tomorrow, if ye fancy it.
Summer’s nearly gone, but there’s still time for a lovely day outdoors.
” I give her a nasty grin, knowing she is not happy with this arrangement. But I don’t give a fuck.
“Lift your skirt more and show me the best part of you, Natasha.” I unzip my pants and walk toward her.
She does as she is bidden, pulling the dress over her breasts so that I can have a good view of them as well, and I climb on top of her, entering her in one swift motion.
“If my son isn’t in you yet, he will be soon,” I say between thrusts.
“I say we have a fall weddin’, so I can make sure ye’re knocked up beforehand — I won’t be weddin’ a woman who’s unsuit-.
” I feel something on my dick, something sharp.
“The fuck is that?” Natasha feigns innocence.
“What the actual fuck is that, inside your pussy, Natasha?” I roar at her, my dick still buried within her. At this, she gives me the grin of a Cheshire cat.
“I can’t be pregnant, I have an IUD, mудак (ass hole).” This. Bitch.
I pull out of her and put my face to her pussy, and reach my fingers inside, stretching her until I can fit my four fingers inside her, feeling around until I can grab the string I know is inside her.
Natasha begins to scream, but it’s too late.
Her legs are kicking and she is thrashing around, but I grab the string with one hand and use my free hand to push down on her stomach so she can’t get away.
Once I have a firm grasp, I rip it out of her. With a wicked grin on my face I hold it up for her to see, returning her evil smile tenfold. She is screaming and crying now. I am positive that didn’t feel good. I just simply don’t give a fuck.
“You will give me a son, Natasha,” I say between labored breaths.
I look down and see the blood on the sheets.
Someone will need to clean this up once I’m done.
Can’t have the mother of my child sleeping in blood.
I reenter her and continue fucking her, hoping that the effects of the IUD will be instantly reversed.
If not, she will learn her lesson. Natasha continues to hit me, causing my dick to slip out, and screams at me in Russian, which I understand none of.
Too bad for her. I shove my dick back inside of her, despite her efforts to close her legs.
I continue thrusting until I finish and empty my entire load right onto her swollen cervix.
Hopefully, some of that will make it into her womb so that next time I give her a test, she will be filled with my son.
I hop up and put my now soft dick back into my boxers, and zip my pants back up.
Natasha lay there crying, rolled over, still bleeding.
I walk into the bathroom, see the test is negative, and begin to clean up, anger flooding me.
I flush her urine down the toilet and throw away the cup and the pregnancy test.
“Okay, I’ll see ya tomorrow, my love,” I tell her as I walk out, locking the door with the code behind me. The bitch won’t be leaving this room until my son is born. And then she will be moved to her plot in my family's cemetery.
I walk out of the hallway that leads to Natasha’s room and into the large main room where my men and my captive wait for me.
“Hello, Bridget. How’re you? Been a long time.” I address her as I walk out of my office, holding a towel in my hand, and walk toward where she is tied up. Her left eye is swollen shut, and her clothes are torn.
She looks up at me through her one good eye, and when I get close to her, she spits in my direction.
I click my tongue at her, and laugh. Although I don’t think it’s a pleasant sound. Most of my men’s shoulders rise up toward their ears when they hear it. Once I am right in front of her, I backhand her across the face.
“Ah now, don’t be disrespectin’ your host like that.
Thought we were closer, back when I was still livin’ with me wife.
” She lets out a slight chuckle. I don’t think the old woman has energy for much more.
“Tell me what I want t’know, an’ I’ll have ye out o’ that chair an’ into a proper holdin’ room — a hot shower, a real bed, the whole bleedin’ thing.
Sound fair?” I try to tempt her. I need to move her out of here regardless, but this will hopefully be mutually beneficial.
“I won’t tell ya shite, ya rotten gobshite pox bottle. Think I’d give you a single word ‘bout my sweet Surry, ya scut? Feck off, ya wanker.” Her accent is much stronger when she is angry. I don’t remember it being so aggressive the last time I saw her.
Her words also drag the brogue right out of me; it slips through my teeth before I can bite it back, old-country vowels cutting clean through the calm I try to keep.
“Ah Jaysus, I’d near forgot how sharp yer tongue could be.
Alright then—are there any boats Surry can drive at her da’s house?
” I chuckle at my own words and how they sound now.
Now I just want to see if she will say anything other than classless Irish insults.
“Yer thick as shite, and twice as ugly. Feck off back to yer hole before Stefan buries ya in it.”
Nope, guess not. I backhand her again, and she lets out a scream. I grab a fistful of her gray hair and bring her face within an inch of mine, ensuring I spit a little when I talk to her.
“Tell me how she will be gettin’ to the port, or you won’t draw another breath to see her with yer own two eyes.”
“Sir, we found her.”
My men interrupt me with the best news I have heard in nearly ten years. I let go of Bridget’s hair, pushing her backward until she falls over onto her back, still tied to the chair. See how the old cunt likes that.
As I walk toward the screens, I see the one they have highlighted.
It’s Surry, hopping off a small boat. Only took her two hours, and she dressed pretty well to hide from me, but she can’t truly hide from me, not ever.
She has her long, beautiful hair pulled into the hood of a too big black sweater, combat-looking trousers, and black combat boots, with a large orange life jacket and over sized black sunglasses.
Even still, she’s as easy to spot as if she had a beacon on her.
I cannot wait to see how she has changed under those clothes, but I do wonder where my child is.
What she did with him. It was well documented that she was pregnant when she arrived at the hospital that night, but the rest was buried under red tape and paperwork.
“There she is,” I say, the first syllable catching the old brogue before I smooth it out, “go get her. Bring her to me. Bring me my wife.”