I stayed up past one in the morning to finish this thing, so I really hope it turned out okay.
This chapter definitely leans towards the M-rating side of things, so read as you will.
Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated, let me know what you think!
Natasha braced herself for another lash, but it never came. Waiting was the worst and Natasha hated it; there was a certain uncertainty to waiting, vulnerability came with uncertainty. Long minutes ticked past, the only sound was the quiet drips of blood hitting the floor. The door hinges groaned under the weight of the massive slab of metal as it was pushed open again and another man entered; a man she knew all too well, a man who knew her all too well.
Pain flooded through her again when she lifted her head in an act of defiance. She would not bow to him, not anymore.
Her handler came into view again as he exited, a smirk on his face, and the whip changed hands, passing from his gore spattered hand, to the polished titanium hand of her trainer.
"It's good to see you, Widow." He turned the whip over in his hands a few times, the supple leather gliding through his hands. When he finally looked up at her, it took all her force of will to keep her gaze level when instinct told her to look away.
"You always were a stubborn girl." He drawled, walking in predatory circles around her, remembering everything about her that he had forgotten, everything he used to know like the back of his hand.
"Don't worry, child." Natasha tensed, anger rising above the pain, nobody had called her 'child' in years. "I broke you of that once, I will do it again." Anger, hatred, and pain all flashed in his eyes, but Natasha saw something more, reluctance? No, he'd never hesitated before, not once, when it came to punishment. She'd say happiness, but she doubted he knew what happiness was, she certainly didn't until she got out. Until I met, Clint, Natasha chased that thought away quickly, focusing sharply on the scene in front of her.
CRACK!
He swung harder, he always did with her. The leather cord bit into the softer, more sensitive flesh on the back of her thighs, slicing through skin and muscle and tendon, cleaving flesh from bone with every swing.
CRACK! When was the last time we were here, like this?
CRACK! She threw her head back, but kept her mouth clamped shut, blood filling her mouth as she bit into her cheek.
CRACK! Mount Elbrus is the highest point in Russia.
CRACK! 5624 meters tall.
CRACK! Natasha's mind reeled, struggling to produce another fact when she heard a faint chuckle from behind her.
"I'd forgotten how good you were." Was that pride she heard? She wasn't always so silent when the time for punishment came, far from it, but she learned, she always learned.
Was she six or seven? She couldn't seem to remember, the years all seemed to run together in the program. Pain was the lesson, unfathomable, unspeakable, burning, searing, endless pain. Days and days of pain. At first, she'd screamed, the sensations so new to her. She'd screamed and screamed until her throat was raw and bleeding like the rest of her thin, young body. She screamed until she learned. Learned that with every cry came more pain, deeper pain, new pain. Then, she fought. Against him, against the pain, against her own mind, she fought. With time the infliction of pain ebbed and died all together.
Now she was in the grips of the same man, no longer a child, but a woman grown. She swallowed the pain then, she could swallow it now.
The whip slithered the the floor, the thud form the thick handle and the resounding splash into the deepening pool of blood told her that much. Smooth fingers ran over a deep lash on her back, the cool metal a welcome respite until they clenched and tightened, digging deep into the raw flesh of her back. Her head fell back involuntarily, hitting the back of her head against something hard this time as her body convulsed with pain, a ragged gasp bubbled from her lips with the blood that had welled in her mouth.
"Welcome home, Natalia." He crooned, wrapping his fleshy hand around her throat hard enough to bruise. As soon as he'd appeared, he was gone. When the door slammed shut behind him, Natasha felt the pressure on her arms disappear and she crashed to the floor. Unable to break her fall she landed squarely on her stomach grunting as her chin smacked the red stained tile. Though that hurt paled in comparison to the heavy iron chain crashing down onto her shredded back. The last thing she remembered before surrendering to the darkness that began to close in around her was two guards dragging her out of the pink-stained room.
"Natasha!" The panicked voice sounded wrong to her, everything felt wrong. She was vaguely aware that she was conscious, but her brain struggled to make sense of things, she felt like she was inside a snow globe. Everything around her was moving and changing and spinning, she felt like she might vomit if it didn't all settle soon.
"Natasha!" Came the voice again, who's voice? She tried to place a face and a name to the voice, but got lost along the way, her mind straying again. She knew this feeling, right? There was something familiar about the fog around her.
"Natasha!" The voice was more urgent now, accompanied by a light touch. Pressure around her wrist, fingers, she felt fingers. The fog seemed to evaporate when the fingers squeezed her tighter, and she stumbled back into awareness. Konrad.
"How?" One word seemed like all she could manage, her throat felt sticky, like she'd swallowed a bucket of tar. She definitely knew this feeling, the feeling of a clean slate.
"They dragged you out, I haven't seen you since, until now." He explained. "It's been ages, Natasha, I thought you were dead!" Natasha realized she was lying down, face first against the damp concrete floor, and pushed herself up onto her knees.
"What happened to you after?" Natasha decided that he asked too many question.
"Clean slate." She slurred out, words were always hardest after she woke up.
"What?" Konrad hadn't failed to notice the pristine condition Natasha was returned in. He'd spent days, it felt like weeks, pacing his cell nervously, wondering about what they were doing to her. Then, unexpectedly, she was unceremoniously dumped back into the cell next to him, all traces of the whipping vanished from her body.
"They like to fix you when they're done." Natasha brought her head between her knees to prevent herself from heaving. "They carve you up, then patch you up. Make you whole again so they can carve you up some more later." She explained, answering his next question before he could answer it.
Hours passed before Natasha felt like herself again, well like a caged version of herself. She spent a good deal of time pacing the small cell, then worked out to pass the time. Sit ups, push ups, pull ups until she lost count. Konrad drifted in and out of sleep, but Natasha was wired, and sleep would not come to her, though she can't say she minded. The only passage of time was marked by the changing of the guards down the hall and when meagre amounts of food showed up for them. Twelve changes, roughly five or six days by her best guess, and they came for her again, drugging her in her cell before dragging her limp body around.
She woke again in the dark, hands and feet bound, on her back. She pulled at the restraints on her ankles and wrists out of habit, not expecting anything more than the stiff resistance she got.
"Why here?" She asked, keeping her eyes locked on the ceiling as a body stirred just out of view. She'd learned to sense his presence pretty well back in the day, he did, after all, train her to do that exact thing.
"You remember?" He asked, moving to sit next to her on what she took to be a bed.
"I remember everything." She tried to keep her voice even, but distressed note in her voice did not go unnoticed by him.
"Evidently not. You've forgotten who you really are, Natalia." She made no attempt to mask the confusion on her face.
"I'm here to remind you." He sounded like her trainer again, her teacher. She hadn't heard that voice in ages, she felt half a girl again back here with him in her old room. Natasha squirmed a bit under his scrutinizing gaze, his eyes colder than usual, when he placed a hand on her stomach to still her. Warmth, flesh, not metal.
She'd locked this memory away, refused to speak of it, to think of it, but she couldn't stop the flood when he broke down the dam.
She was 15, when training in interrogation tactics and sexual persuasion ran side by side. Two side of the same coin really, information came to her either way. She took to torture with ease, the challenge excited her. How to make someone talk, where to hit, where to cut, how best to make the pain linger, was something she was good at. Sex however, she faltered with. They told her she was perfect, beautiful and unsuspecting, they told her that sex was just another weapon and they would train her to use it. She hated it. Never in her life did she ever feel more insignificant and used than when she was on her knees, forcing herself to swallow down some male recruit, the ones they only saw during this type of training.
They would force her onto her back or onto her knees and force themselves inside her. Like she swallowed her pain and their come, she swallowed her humiliation too. Acting the part of passionate vixen and shy virgin as perfectly as she did everything else, though this act left her with bloodstained sheets and a angry rawness in the very center of her body that lingered for days. She gathered that sex was supposed to be enjoyable, but she never felt anything close to joy during sex.
Then one day, she'd been in interrogation all day, the torturous kind, and wrested every bit of information from him that her trainer required. He, for once, made no attempt to disguise his satisfaction with her performance as he walked her back to her room for the night. Though, he didn't stop at her door this time, no, he followed her in, locking the door behind him. Natasha felt a question rising, but opted for silence. Never question your superiors, she knew.
"They tell me you're struggling with sexual persuasion, Natalia." He sounded almost dad-like when he spoke to her, though Natasha was as defensive as always, despite the casual setting of their meeting.
"They always seemed pleased." She shot back irritatedly, stripping her small cot of this weeks bloody sheets.
"But you do not." He countered, watching her work as he leaned against her desk chair.
"It is not my job to." Her reply was automatic, the trainer seemed pleased by the lack of hesitation in her voice.
"Excellent point, Natalia." Natasha kept her back to him as he crossed the room to stand behind her, her breath caught in her throat as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.
"But you must learn," His breath was hot in her ear and it sent a shiver down her spine. She felt wrong, this was wrong, but she dared not move, dared not run. She'd done well today, he'd told her so, she must continue to do well. "that sex need not always be painful." He pressed his lips against the skin just behind her ear, surrendering, Natasha leaned back into him, pressing against the bulge in the pants of his uniform.
Slowly, he unzipped the top her of uniform and made quick work of the sports bra she wore underneath, leaving her naked from the waist up. She felt no shame in her nakedness, not with him, who'd seen her in far worse conditions. His hot and cold hands felt strange against her skin as they gently roamed her body, kneading her breasts in ways that made her breath labored and heavy. She dropped her head back onto his shoulder as a warm hand slid down the front of her uniform, easing her legs open a little wider. Her hands needed to find purchase on something, and they did as she wound one hand up above her, threading it into his hair, the other gripped his warm forearm tightly as his fingers played with the sensitive folds of skin between her legs. And god, it felt so good. A soft moan escaped her before she knew it and she bit her lip in horror, glancing up nervously at her trainer.
"It's okay, Talia." He assured her, sliding two fingers into her, dragging a pleasured gasp from her before she had the chance to speak. "I want you to feel good." He explained, working his fingers in and out of her, smirking when he felt her knees struggle under her weight and needed to hold her tighter to keep her upright.
The fearsome, cold, calculated Black Widow felt every wall she built crumble down as she let the sensation of pleasure wash over her in waves, her mind focused on nothing but her trainer's skilled hands on her and in her. His thumb brushed lightly over her clit and she became completely undone. Her back arched against him, driving his fingers further in her, and a wave of pleasure washed over her with so much force she collapsed against him.
That night rocketed both of them into the land of the unknown, a new relationship. More than the established training relationship, much more, but what? Natasha never figured it out, though she didn't much care to either, content when he claimed her as his own when she returned from training and missions.
"Natalia." She was brought back to reality when cold air hit her bare skin. Finding herself relieved of her shirt again, Natasha looked up into the familiar, lust-filled eyes of the man she once trusted with more than her life.