Revy let out a dry whine, muffled by the couch cushions. Another hard smack brings another cry, and she's gripping the side of the couch with one hand and digging into the seat with the other. Balalaika adjusted her over her knees, so that one of her tight-clad legs came in between Revy's thighs, holding her a slightly sideways angle. The position made her back arch more, and Revy shuddered.
"Are you a good girl?" Balalaika purred, raising her hand before delivering another blow, rocking a gasping Revy back into the cushions. She can feel the soft flesh of the blonde's thigh underneath her torso, and at first was comforting, touching her, but after a few hits it began to dig into her ribs. Revy could only reply in groans, her nails pressed into the fabric.
"Uh-"
"Rebecca. I'm talking to you." The bite of a Russian accent slipped into the cold sentence, and Revy felt an annoyed gaze bore into the back of her skull. A second slap vibrated through her body, and she bit back a moan. There was no gentleness in the blonde's actions, and every hit felt worse than the last. She was bruised, definitely. Near the purple category. She could feel the redness that spread from the tops of her thighs right to her tailbone, and the fact she only has panties to soften such blows means she'll be sitting painfully for a few days. The pain itself did nothing to stop the lustful need sitting low in her belly. She was dripping; but there was nothing to rub against, only the knee. If she tried to relieve the ache, then she'd be punished.
Raising her head blearily, Revy blinked away the wetness in her eyes and juggled her options. One, would to whine a 'yes, sis' which might be rewarded by more hits, two, a 'no I'm not' would bring forth harder slaps, and the third one, a lack of a reply, would give her the same option as the second.
"F-fuck I-" She let out a harsh cry, ducking her face back down to hide the loudness of her voice. If she was loud, Balalaika had promised, things would get a lot worse. Coat-hanger worse. The blonde had her left hand on Revy's back, keeping her down, to allow little movement.
Revy swallowed, and tried her best to turn her head to look at Balalaika. Her mussed hair covered her vision and she shook her head, attempting to flip it out of the way. Acrylic nails dragged up the bruised area; adding more pressure as she went. "I, I ammm."
"Why?" Balalaika had a soft smirk on her face, her hand rubbing where she had slapped in slow circles.
"Because I'm keeping qui-quiettt, sissss." Revy whined, her grip on the couch relaxing, her legs spreading farther and the apex of her thighs pressing harder on Balalaika's knee. She was dangerously close to whimpering 'sissy,' an action that would mortify her more than this situation ever could. Even more close to creating a wet spot on the blonde's skirt, if she hadn't already.
Balalaika let out a dark chuckle, raising her hand from her backside. "Mm, I don't actually think so."
Shutting her eyes tight, Revy awaited what came next.
"-Wake up, Jesus, Revy!" Rock's voice ricocheted through her skull, bouncing off her temples. He had his hand on her hip, shaking her roughly, her face mashing into the thin pillow underneath her tangled hair. The headache from last night returned proudly, flexing its fingers in her brain.
There was a feeling of absolute want deep inside Revy, so much so she had the thought of dragging Rock by his tie on top of her, anything, absolutely anything, just for friction and hopefully a quick orgasm, then throw him off of her. She didn't need to check to see how soaked through she was, there was a wet sensation between her thighs stemming from her underwear, and there was an agonizing sensitivity.
"Get out," Revy croaked, sitting up in a way to hide her arousal. Grasping the pillow, she pulled away from him and reared her arm back, throwing it as hard as one could throw an abused pillow. She fought the urge to rut against her bed, disgustingly.
Rock easily batted it away, eyes narrowing. Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head. Hand slowly moving off her hip, his thumb brushed her hipbone. Leaning into the touch, his look of frustration turned into suspicion. "It's almost eleven, Revy, we've got to go."
Oh, shit. Just what she sorely needed; another moment of her being in the same room as Balalaika. After their discussion last night and the dream she just had, it was going to fucking suck. Not only that, but Rock was going to come along with the, which was a surprise on all fronts. He didn't, at least with the Lagoon Company, see much of Balalaika anymore; instead he was with Chang. And Revy thought Rock fucking hated Chang.
"Are we gonna kill somebody?" Her fingers grazed the bullet hole in her arm that Hotel Moscow gave her. Even logically, after sleep for more then the recommended eight hours there's the sensation of bone-tiredness.
"A job from Balalaika? Most likely." Rock sighed, eyes downcast. He had one knee on her bed; his body hovering over her sitting form. But not touching her, never touching her. Revy once took that as a sign of being unwanted, unattractive. Now she knows he's so fucking awkward at anything to do with women.
He'd changed, no doubt about that. His eyes were darker and no longer had that shimmer about them, a shimmer she'd try to sneak glances at, a shimmer that would shine when he'd see Revy do acrobatics above him. When she'd save his ass. But now they're like a blank slate, and Revy blamed herself for it. All the times she would tell him to grow some balls, get over it, fuck your scale of morality, was now coming back to bite her in the ass.
She let out a low groan, rubbing her eyes with bruised fists. Her body ached. She could scarcely remember the drive home, only shaking fingers gripping the steering wheel, her eyes half-lidded and the radio turned off. Neglecting to talk to anyone or eat the cold pasta left on the stove, she went to her room and that's when it turned black.
"Fuck, alright. But I call the bathroom."
Revy pushed Rock away, fingertips on his chest. He feels harder to the touch then she remembered. Stronger. She scooted forward and stood up, cold air touching her underwear. He took a few steps away, watching her exit her own bedroom, tiptoeing around the dirty laundry that sprawled across her floor. Dutch had made the habit of whenever he walked past Revy's open doorway, he'd yell for to move the godforsaken trash from one side of the room to the other. Like Benny's was any better.
It was only when she shut the bathroom door when reality set in. Revy had imagined- no dreamed, dreams aren't anything you can truly control- being bent over Balalaika's knee like something out of an old television show, like a child being punished for breaking a fucking vase or something. She wasn't able to get a good look at Balalaika's face, there was only the faded sofa cushion in her tearful vision; Revy allowed herself to think that it was a good thing. Balalaika not seeing Revy cry like a little bitch. A little brat that needed more discipline.
The shower pressure had always been lacking, but it worked well enough to wash the sweat and dust that caked her skin and hair. The sunburn had begun to peel on her shoulders, and swipes with a washcloth created more pain then the skin rubbing off. It wasn't often she'd burn under the sun, her tanned skin acting as a useful barrier. Balalaika would cook if she dared to spend more time outside. Revy's fingers thread through her locks and scraped her nails on her scalp. The bubbles from the shampoo pooled around the drain. Continuing to create a rich lather in her burgundy hair, she shut her eyes as the soap dripped down her face.
Sad part is maybe Revy deserved the punishment. Maybe because she's been acting like a sulking bitch lately, and her mind is getting back at her by threatening the promise of being stripped (literally) and being hit. She, for one, had never been spanked in her life. Beer bottles and fists in her face, yeah. Being shot, yeah. Near-death experience because she got the living shit beat out of her, and she didn't even fucking do anything. Street rat street rat street rat. Being assaulted-
Revy decided at that point, to not want to fuck Balalaika. A Russian mafia juggernaut who's been with fucking draw-and-quarter her in the street to let the general public know that Balalaika isn't some cute cashier at the corner store. A stupid dream never hurt anyone. It's for her and only her to know.
A bubble of curiosity had Eda pop into her head. If there was anyone she'd tell, it would be Eda, but it was fucking Eda, and there was no way she'd tell her she may have a subconscious desire to be bent over across Balalaika's nicely-shaped thighs and be had.
But she'd informed the nun about her masochism/sadism shows for Rowan, that porno fuck, and Revy would be the whip-swinging dominatrix, in tight latex and leather, throwing around an eighteen-year-old girl who'd curl up and weep at the end of the show. There'd be thick ropes of red lines down the girl's flank and ass, her hair tangled from being dragged by it, heavy makeup smeared across her face. Depressing part? The fucking club was called GoofFest. Eda was puzzled after such a brag, her eye brow arching before she laughed hard, clutching her sides. "I didn't know you likes abusing poor little girls," She hung that over Revy's head for a while.
Here she was now, being the abused poor girl. Failing at being a good girl. Karma's a bitch, she should have done well to remember that.
A sharp knock broke her out of her mind, louder than the shower drumming on the bathtub floor. Looking down, eyes wide, her arms were wrapped tight around her frame. Straightening her bent spine, there's a beginning of deep panic nibbling at the pit of her growling stomach.
"Hurry up! You've got twenty minutes!"
"Fuck OFF Benny!" Revy slammed a fist on the shower wall, knocking off the bottles of shower gel and conditioner onto the ground. The echo answered Benny's question; there was no response behind the door. She ran a washcloth between her legs, cleaning up the residual liquid. She was not going to fuck herself. Hard-ons went away.
The shower turned off with a low thump, and Revy ripped a towel from the hook and rubbed the stiff fabric on her wet face. Guilt grew roots in her chest, a feeling of wrongness. Yeah, she was ungrateful. Here she was dreaming of a woman who'd tried to kill Rock, and more importantly, would fucking kill her if she ever, ever learned of what Revy thought of her. The embarrassing truth of wanting to be spanked by a mob boss. Revy. Being spanked. How funny. God, everybody would have a laugh at that.
Rock had a higher chance, really. Simple math. Balalaika talked to him more than she ever did with Revy. To her she was Two Hands, a living weapon who loves bloodshed. Up until Japan Revy had seen her as sis; hard ass soldier turned into a Russian mafia queen. If she didn't respect Balalaika, then she couldn't respect anyone. Then that situation happened, there was more to Balalaika than just the hell of Afghanistan. She was no goddess. She was forty, for Christ's sake. Dutch knew too much. To Balalaika, Revy was a girl. To anybody even so much as a year older than her she was a girl. She was the same age as Rock and yet he acted ten years older than she did.
If you ever hope to have… Towel falling from her face, Revy took a hard look in the mirror, raised her fist, and punched it.
Fucking war-maniac, Fry-face bitch. The fuck was her name anyway? Susan? Cathy?
The mirror didn't break, it still showed the sunburned, blushing, shameful expression on her face. The bruised nose. The dark circles under her eyes, like that of a skull. Balling her fist again, she reared her arm back but before the impact she snapped her arm back, smacking her curled fist onto the white bathroom counter, hissing in pain. She still had ugly bruises dancing across her knuckles, and now she'd have more to add.
She makes a choking sound like a run over dog she saw once in New York. She'd hitched a ride with some of her 'friends' at the time, older criminals who pushed her around. Gave her a decent gun and didn't bother trying to help her learn how to use it. Traffic was miserable, she saw it for a good two minutes and had a good eyeful from where she sat in the backseat. Not dead, not yet. Revy thinks of its guts burst out of its side in wet curls, wet trails behind it and the depressing whining.
"Someone should do it a favor, why'd the asshole just drive off." The driver muttered around a cigarette.
Revy thought of herself on the side of the road, a street rat, not a dog. Insides trailing behind her; fingernails cracking on the asphalt. Desperate. Not understanding, and maybe even angry. Sad. Unloved. Stupid. Stupid animal.
"Yeah, somebody should fuckin' help that poor baby." The guy next to her replied, cracking his neck with his hands, eyes not leaving the writhing form.