Chapter 4: Stove Tops and Turned Tables
The next time Ruslan woke up he dryly remarked, even before he opened his eyes, that if he was back in his own bed back in Seattle and this all had been a dream, he would go right back to sleep.
His limbs were mobile, but the cold press of the bathtub beneath him confirmed what he knew to be true. This was not just some sick dream. This was not some Freudian slip of his subconscious telling him he was a sexual deviant deep down at his core.
It was a cold hard truth.
Slowly his eyes opened. The room was light again, a brilliant, piercing light that hurt his constricted pupils. He sat up in the tub and looked around stiffly. The chain was still beside the tub; his cuffs were still firmly in place. He supposed he had been wearing them for more than a day and the red skin beneath them proved it. Slowly he stood, finding himself still a little weak and sore.
Ruslans eyes snapped open. All sense of time was lost to him; the skylight was dark, but not so dark as to appear pitch black. His mouth was dry and felt puffy and his lip was still throbbing. He touched it, a little dried blood transferred to his fingertips.
His rib was still sore as, and turning a dark purple. Thankfully the headache was mostly gone. At the sink he ran cold water and cleaned his lip and washed his face. As he dried his face he caught a glimpse of his naked body in a full-length mirror. The teeth marks she had left on his ass and shoulder were a dark red.
Shit, she's a freak.
The marks on his skin were tender to the touch and he shuffled around the cupboards for antiseptics or iodine.
He couldn't find anything and his mind slipped back to the hours before when his aunt had explained why she wanted to push him so far. She was a rough girl, he supposed, she probably had been that way all her life. Maybe regular sex meant nothing to her. She had confessed, possibly by mistake, that it was the hunt of the thrill and the possibility of danger that made her hot. That wasn't normal, but he had heard of such things. Power games, Fem-Dom's, kinky sex. It all sounded like an episode of CSI.
The two sets of handcuffs around his ankles clattered along the marble as he walked to the door and tried the knob. It was still locked, of course, just as she had promised.
But she wasn't a dominator, he thought, at least not completely. She had confessed that she wanted the same sort of uncooked, passionate treatment. Perhaps everything leading up to this point in time had just been to prime him, crack down his patterned notions of sex and pleasure. Was she trying to boil him into a state where he would lash back at her with tenfold of what she had given him?
The door snapped open and his aunt stepped through. She looked surprised to see him awake, but not as surprised as Ruslan was to see her completely dolled up in a lacy black corset. He stared at her crookedly, wondering why she would go to this extent, with her breasts looking incredibly huge and round and her waist cinched up tight as a straw.
Was she trying to seduce him?
A matching set of black lace panties clung to the flatness of her pubic mound, a narrow teardrop of fabric was all that covered her pussy lips. Garter straps furrowed down the front of her thighs and dug into the supple curve of her ass, attaching firmly to tightly woven black nylon stockings.
She looked like a million bucks.
"Why the hell would your husband divorce you?" Ruslan let out the question with a low admiring whistle.
"He liked to fuck little boys more than he liked to fuck me."
"So do you." Ruslan laughed, but cowered back when she raised the now familiar can of mace to his face.
"Shut up." And then, with less anger, "You've been sleeping a long time. It must be a teenager thing. I was getting bored."
Ruslan noticed that she had applied make up as well, darkening her lashes and blushing her cheeks and glossing over her lips with a dark red coat of paint. A new scent bubbled around her and fanned out whenever she moved her hair. She smelled like a new woman.
Ruslan stood, eating her up with his eyes. He was still naked, and his cock twitched in the open air.
"Are you ready for play time? A lopsided smile tugged at her red lips, smugness showed in her eyebrows.
"Can I ask you something?" Ruslan asked. She nodded, "Why go to the trouble getting all sexy for a rape?"
"I like looking sexy," she swooned, and then blew him a kiss, "besides, you can't rape the willing. You are willing aren't you?"
He didn't answer.
"Get back on the stool," she ordered.
Fuck.
He looked down at the stool and remembered how hard the bars had pressed into him and how much hurt he had been in during her first assault. He wanted to dodge away, capture her and turn her plan upside down. But she held the can of mace, didn't she? How could he resist?
Jeri prodded Ruslans ass with a toe, prompting him towards the stool. She watched him set it upright and sit down on the small round seat. Even though she was primed and ready for another freak fuck, she didn't really want to do it on the stool. Quickly a plot formed in her mind.
"I'll clip you in," she offered, "Just because I'm such a gracious lady."
Gracious, right,
she thought jadedly,
a gracious woman would not think about impaling herself on her nephews cock...not even if it was the biggest one she had ever seen.
Ruslan eyed her mace as she swayed forward, eying it more than her prominently displayed breasts or barely-there panties. It was the mace he wanted most of all, for the moment at least.
And Jeri was prepared to give it to him.
"Legs," she ordered, kicking his shins until they lined up with the back bars again. "Good."
She made a show of placing the mace on the countertop and knelt down to fasten the cuffs.
Ruslan exploded in a flurry of motion, jumping from the stool and kicking is backwards into a wall. His hand lashed out and smacked that fucking red can underneath the toilet. His aunt started at the sudden noise and motion, fell back onto her ass and tried desperately to shuffle away.
He chased her out the door and reached for the hem of her corset but only got a hold of a garter strap.
The thin black strap snapped off and his aunt rocketed for the door. She had just turned the corner on the other side of the closet when Ruslan barreled into her, sending both their bodies sprawling on the carpet in a mess of naked limbs and tense muscles.
