I decided to leave the tattoo in place for right now. My hair grew very quickly, and I figured it would probably be covered up within three months. Maybe if Svetlana and I worked out, I would let her change Adrian's name on the tattoo, to hers.
When I got home, Svetlana was waiting for me. Her hair and makeup were perfect and she greeted me with a smile. She handed me an ice-cold Corona, and waited expectantly for me to drink it. Three Coronas later, I was feeling no pain, and Svetlana moved in for the kill.
"I have a surprise for you, baby," she teased, as I wondered what sexual delight she had in store for me.
As it turns out, my surprise was not sexual in nature, although it did evoke a very stirring physiological response from me. Ivan showed up at my doorstep moments later, and asked me to take a drive with him. It was with some trepidation that I got into his car, but Svetlana was with me, and Ivan was on my payroll, so my concerns were not for my wellbeing.
When we pulled into Adrian's driveway, I gave Ivan a confused look. He quickly took charge of the situation.
"You need to witness this, Chris," he said assertively. "Don't touch anything or say a anything. Your DNA is already all over the house, which is to be expected since you lived here for several months. However, you don't need to be seen at this time and place. I have disabled the exterior CCTV cameras and Adrian's home security system."
I nodded in affirmation, deciding to trust this guy's instincts, honed as they were through years of gangster affiliation. The three of us entered the house through the utility room. He left the lights off and a few moments later my eyes adjusted to the low level of illumination.
At this point, Ivan opened the plantation shutters that looked into the well-lit living room. Adrian was visible kneeling naked before two large men, both of whom were wearing ski-masks. Adrian had been severely beaten, blood and bruises evident across much of his torso as he writhed in pain. The three of us stood in silence as Adrian begged for his life.
Part of me wanted to stop it, but I was also transfixed by his abject misery and couldn't tear my eyes away from him. The thugs forced him to his feet, and judging by his cries of pain, he had suffered a few broken ribs, and maybe a fractured wrist. He was unusually compliant, but continued to beg for his punishment to end. I gave Svetlana a sideways glance and she had a satisfied smile on her face.
"Can I join in, Ivan?" she asked, in a whisper.
"Of course," Ivan responded. "It was my expectation that you both would want to get a pound of flesh. I just need you to mask up and wear latex gloves."
I signaled to Ivan that I just wanted to observe, and he nodded in understanding. Svetlana pulled on some latex gloves, pulled a ski-mask over her head, taking the time to conceal her hair, and strode into the living room with Ivan. By this time, the gangsters had Adrian bent over the large ottoman, and he continued to cry out in pain about his ribs.
I scanned the well-lit room, and immediately noticed the black strap-on and the rattan cane, lying on the coffee table, upon which he had taken Jaime's anal cherry. I wanted to go in there and tell Svetlana, but she is a very perceptive young lady, and she quietly asked Ivan to reposition Adrian on all fours, atop the low slung table.
As soon as the gangsters told Adrian to get up on the table, he realized what was about to happen and began to resist. One of the thugs hit him once, with what appeared to be a police issue baton. There was a sickening thud as the wooden truncheon made contact with Adrian's shoulder blade, and he let out a squeal of pain, and complied immediately. Svetlana strapped the harness around her pelvis and secured the strap-on into it, with an ominous click. Adrian seemed more fearful of being struck by the baton again, and remained compliant in the doggy-style position.
Svetlana applied a generous dollop of Vaseline to the end of the black phallus, and inserted one of her gloved hands into Adrian's rectum, in order to lubricate it. I wondered why she spared him the dry insertion of the strap-on, but she obviously knew what she was doing, so I left her to her own devices.
Moments later, as one of the thugs rested the baton across Adrian's upper back, as if to warn him of the consequences of any resistance, Svetlana slowly forced her way inside his muscular black ass. I couldn't see Adrian's face, but his back was very tense as Svetlana entered his anal passage. I think he decided to deal with the pain, being as it was the lesser of two evils, compared to the baton. Svetlana remained silent as she violated him, in contrast to the whooping and hollering noises she made when she fucked my ass.
I am assuming Adrian knew it was Svetlana behind him, but she had been instructed by Ivan not to add any evidential element to her presence and participation. I watched Svetlana brutally sodomize Adrian for over ten minutes before I had to turn away. His cries of anguish as he suffered this indignity were too much for me to process. Deep down, I knew he deserved it, but I felt like retribution was achieved, and the prolonged assault seemed unnecessary.
Svetlana fucked his ass until he wept and begged her to stop. I turned my head to continue watching his punishment. Finally, she gave Ivan a sideways glance, and he said something in Russian to the masked thug holding the baton on Adrian's upper back.
"Don't fucking move an inch," the gangster growled, in heavily accented English.
Adrian nodded his head to assert his understanding, and Svetlana un-clicked the strap-on from its harness, and stepped back from behind Adrian. This gave me an unobstructed view of my former tormentor, although he seemed fairly harmless crouching as he was on all fours, with a huge black phallus protruding from his anal passage. He was bleeding from his anus, although this appeared to be the least of his medical concerns.
"Lay on the table," the thug ordered.
Adrian lowered himself gingerly to the wooden surface, clearly nursing several fractures. Once he was prone, the gangster zip-tied his hands to the legs of the coffee table, rendering him immobile. I felt sick to my stomach as I tried to process the upcoming physical abuse he was about to be subjected to. He had endured a prolonged physical beating and a brutal anal assault. What the hell had they got planned for him that would now require him to be restrained?
I got my answer a few seconds later, as Ivan handed Svetlana the rattan cane. Svetlana turned towards me, waving the cane at me, as if to invite me to administer the next punishment. I shook my head, declining the opportunity to participate, as I had seen enough. Svetlana shrugged, and got into position at the foot of the table, resting the cane on Adrian's upper thighs.
Once again, after a nod from Ivan, the masked gangster spoke.
"You have atoned for taking Chris' anal cherry," he said, clearly struggling with his English. "Now you will pay for Sara's assault with the cane."
Adrian started to beg again, his cries falling on deaf ears, but seemingly exciting Svetlana. I wondered if she was going to thrash his ass, ridiculous as it looked with the huge phallus protruding from it, or focus on his upper thighs. That cane looked fearsome, capable of inflicting unfathomable pain. It had reduced Sara to a blubbering mess after four strokes. It had inspired enough fear in me to induce me to sacrifice my wife, choosing her to face Adrian's wrath, in my place. Now as Svetlana held it aloft, I could barely watch.
Svetlana seemed in her element tormenting Adrian, and mirroring his treatment of Sara, she began to trace the tip of the cane across his skin. However, this was not done to evoke any sexual response from him, the way Adrian had teased and aroused my wife. Rather, as the end of the rattan cane glided over his muscular buttocks, upper thighs, hamstrings, back of the knees, calves and finally ankles, Svetlana was merely telegraphing that which Adrian was dreading. She intended to whip his feet.
Svetlana ran the cane across the soles of Adrian's feet for several seconds, allowing him to process his impending thrashing. He tensed up as she removed the cane from his soles, his broad muscular back flexing, stirring memories for me of him being balls-deep in Svetlana in the pool house, as Sara ate his ass.
I heard the familiar swoosh of the cane descending rapidly towards its target, followed by the crack as it made contact with his skin. Adrian let out a blood-curdling cry as the cane hit him, and I felt sick to my stomach. I just wasn't cut out to witness this and ended up closing my eyes. Even without the visual component, the sounds of agony permeating the room, made me queasy. Adrian didn't have anyone looking out for him. No medical professional, periodically assessing his physical condition, to determine if it was safe to proceed. They could have beaten him to death, had they desired.
I stopped listening shortly after the sixth lash, retreating back to the corner of the utility room, where I closed my eyes and tried to block out his screams of agony. I had seen and heard enough, my retribution was complete. I had three girlfriends, almost three million dollars in the bank, and no bills. I needed to focus on my future and forget the past. However, I had to allow Svetlana to get her pound of flesh, so I waited silently in the dark, as she thrashed him until he went silent.
My first thought was that they had killed him. A wave of terror descended upon me as I contemplated prison time for being an accessory to murder. However, Svetlana entered the utility room, seconds later, and the look on her face made me realize that Adrian wasn't dead.
"Vasovagal syncope," Svetlana said as she removed her mask, a broad smile on her face.
My confused look triggered a fuller explanation from her, and as she expanded her description of what had occurred, I learned that Adrian had passed out from a combination of pain, fear and stress. Svetlana was giving me a medical diagnosis, albeit with the same detachment that she had detailed the failure of my penis to respond to her advances, after I had mixed alcohol and amyl nitrite. As she dispassionately detailed Adrian's predicament, she also began to unzip my jeans.
My first thought was that her arousal at Adrian's torture session was overwhelming her, and she wanted to fuck. However, once my jeans and underwear were around my ankles, she grabbed my cock and pulled me into the living room. It was a pretty gruesome sight. Adrian was unconscious, restrained over the low-slung coffee table. The black phallus was still wedged deep inside his anal passage, and his body was covered in cuts and bruises. It was with little satisfaction that I took in the scene, and when my eyes reached his feet, I reflexively put one hand over my mouth.
His feet were torn up from the savage thrashing Svetlana had administered, a bloody mess, the deep grooves in the flesh oozing bodily fluids. It looked like it would be weeks before he would walk again.
