22. Mackenzie
Kirill’s wordsspark fear in me again. He’s been in the strangest mood ever since he came to me. I sense a violence simmering underneath his skin. I don’t think it’s aimed at me, but if sex can help tamp it down, surely that is a good thing. I don’t want him to go and meet his father full of hate.
Will his dad really do him harm? Perhaps I ought to tell my mother that Kirill’s father has demanded a meeting, and she can let Nataniele know?
Then again, I can’t really trust either of them. Perhaps I should tell Dom and Tino. Yes, that seems a better idea.
But I can’t do much tied up naked like this.
“I want you to count,” Kirill says.
Oh, God, is he going to belt me the way Tino did? The red marks have only just faded from where he whipped me.
I glance over my shoulder to discover the hairbrush in his hand. He brings it down smartly on my ass cheek.
“Ow,” I complain, though it doesn’t hurt as much as the belt. The heat from the strike spreads through my skin, and deep down to my core. My pussy clenches.
“Count, not ow.”
He brings it down in the same place.
“One,” I gasp.
He hits the other side. He’s using the flat of the hairbrush, and truthfully, it doesn’t hurt in a bad way. He’s not hitting me to hurt me, I realize. He’s spanking me with it in a way that gives me a stinging jolt of brief pain, followed by a burn of pleasure.
This is way nicer than the belt and not something I’d object to happening again. He spanks me with the brush, even tapping my pussy with it, making me squeal. There’s a degradation to it that a dark part of me likes—craves, even.
I’m the girl who stabbed her professor. The girl who let three men take her at the same time. The girl who likes being spanked by her hairbrush.
I’m so screwed up.
When he’s finally satisfied that my ass has taken enough, Kirill smooths his free hand over my skin.
“So red and pretty. Your skin is a perfect canvas.”
“Okay, there, Doctor Creepy. That’s enough of that.” I keep my tone light, but sometimes I get the scary realization that these guys have oceans of depravity deep enough to drown in.
He laughs and trails a finger through my swollen folds. “You like it, too, Duchess. You’re so wet we won’t even need lube.”
“Why would you need lube to fuck me?” I ask.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Kukla.”
“You’re not?”
I turn to look over my shoulder and see his hand disappear with the hairbrush in it.
“This is big and thick, but it’s round and smooth. I want to see your pussy take it for me.”
Does he mean…? No, he can’t. Not the damn hairbrush handle. Oh, God no way –
The handle nudges at my entrance, smooth, cool, and unyielding. Holy crap, he’s going to stick that thing in me.
“I want to see this sticking out of your pussy.” He laughs and spanks my ass once with the flat of his hand. “It will look so hot.”
“Why don’t you stick it in your ass?” I snarl.
“Oh, if you want to, you can. But after I fuck your cunt with it.”
For a moment I can only replay the words. “You’d really let me fuck your ass with the degrading object of my choice?” I ask.
He leans over me and blows a hot rush of breath over my ear. “I wouldn’t just let you, my doll. I’d like it.”
He bites my ear on the word ‘like,’ and I yelp.
Well, this is an interesting turn of events. I find I’m not exactly averse to the idea. After all, fair’s fair, and what’s good for the goose and all that.
“For now, though, let’s focus on you, huh, Duchess?”
He pushes the handle in farther, and I groan. It feels good, but all I can picture is how it looks. I am exposed like this, and suddenly I feel self-conscious. I tug at the restraints, but he chuckles. “Ah, ah, Kukla, no escaping.”
“Kirill,” I moan as he pumps it in and out of me.
The noises it makes are mortifying.
“God, that’s the fucking hottest thing I have ever seen,” Kirill breathes.
There’s no scorn in his voice, only a degree of awe, and it takes some of my building mortification away … a little.
“The things you all do are so depraved,” I say as he reaches around with his other hand.
He starts to play with my clit, and I find myself lost for words. He’s fucking me so well with that filthy thing and using his fingers so well on my clit that I’m suddenly lost. I know I’m going to come, and even though I don’t want to, I can’t hold back.
I lose it with a cry as I buck back against the thing inside me and pull on the restraints.
“That’s it, come around your hairbrush, Duchess. Not so high and mighty now, huh?”
“Fuck you,” I gasp as the last waves subside.
“No, I fucked you.” He’s triumphant now. The awe is gone, and the asshole is firmly back in place.
I get it, this is a punishment of sorts because he feels left out. If only these three men could find the most basic of words to talk through their emotions, they’d save a fortune in future therapy fees, but they can’t, and so they act out their hurt. On me.
The thought leaves a sour taste.
I hear the sound of a zipper, stark in the quiet of the room.
“I’m not in the mood for you to fuck me right now,” I say.
“I’m not fucking you, Mackenzie. I’m going to come all over your ass and hairbrush. It’s still sticking so very prettily out of your pussy.”
He grunts, and he must have been primed because I only hear a couple of strokes before hot, sticky splashes hit my skin. He comes with a long, drawn-out groan, and then all I hear is his panting. I turn to look at him, and he’s staring at me, admiring his handiwork like the freak he is.
Then he takes his phone out and snaps a shot of me like this.
“What the actual fuck, Kirill?” I shout. “I thought I’d made myself clear about how I felt about you guys taking videos and pictures of me without my permission.”
He stares at me, his eyes glittering with anger. “Don’t worry, Mackenzie Doll, it’s only for Dom and Tino. They need to understand that I am part of this, too.”
I realize immediately that if he sends that picture, it is going to be World War Three between the men. They have this strange, fragile balance between them. This thing could so easily fall apart, and Kirill doing this shatters the illusion that it’s all happy families between us.
“No, Kirill, don’t.” My voice is laced with panic.
“Mackenzie. Chill. I will tell them if they share this then they are indeed dead.”
His English isn’t the best in this instance, but I know what he means. “That’s not what I am bothered about. I mean, I am. Any of you share it, and I’ll kill you. That’s not an empty promise.”
He puts one big hand on my lower back. “Christ, Duchess, don’t say things like that. I’m getting hard again. I love that you say this thing and you could do it. It is such a turn-on.”
“Kirill, if you send that, you’re going to spark a big fight between you three, and they are your best friends.”
“You don’t know us as well as you think you do,” he says. “They will like to see this. I am marking my territory. This is allowed in our rules.”
Then he hits send because I hear the swoosh sound of a message going.
“God, untie me now.” I pull on the restraints again.
“I will, but first I must ease your discomfort.” He pulls the hairbrush gently from me and pets my pussy as if he’s soothing me. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now wait there.”
It’s not like I have much choice. I’m still tied up. He vanished into my bathroom, and the hollow trickle of water running meets my ears. A moment later, he returns with a wet washcloth.
“First, I clean you.”
He places the cloth on my skin. It’s still warm from the water, and he carefully uses it to wipe his cum from my skin. He’s gentle and caring, watching me adoringly with every stroke.
Then he unties me. When I am free from the restraints, I turn on him. “Sometimes, Kill, you’re a fucking sociopath.”
“No. I am not. I can feel empathy, and pain, and hurt.”
“I don’t know if that makes it worse.” I get dressed quickly.
“Mackenzie. I wanted to claim you after you gave yourself to them for a night each. I take this you have given me as a gift. Now, I must go meet with my father. He might kill me. I don’t wish to go while you are in this mood.”
“Mood?” I shake my head. “I’m not in a mood, Kirill. I’m trapped in a lunatic situation with three lunatic men.”
“You hate me.” His face is so sad I almost laugh.
I don’t, though. Instead, like the idiot I am, I sigh and take hold of his face. “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate any of you. I do think you’re all kinds of fucked up, though.”
“Kiss me,” he says, suddenly sounding lost.
I do. I kiss him, gently and long. It’s not passion and fireworks but long, lazy summer days, and warmth and happiness. The kiss is oddly innocent when juxtaposed with what we just did.
“I must go,” he says when he breaks off the kiss.
The door closes softly behind him as he leaves, and I fall onto the bed.
Something suddenly occurs to me; I hope he wasn’t kissing me goodbye.
There are so many things starting to go wrong between us all, and I don’t know how this is going to play out.