“Good,” said Ruslan with another leer. “You see how even the threat of a little pain produces obedience? So gratifying.”
Instead of the blow between her legs which Cressida expected, he flicked the crop against her cheek. It smarted badly. She twisted her head away, and he flicked the other cheek, then came close again, pushing the shaft of the crop between her legs, lifting it and grinding it into her cunt. He pressed his mouth against her ear.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said. “But I have the feeling that you are a girl of spirit.”
Cressida said nothing.
“I have met English girls like you,” he said. “Well–brought–up girls who think themselves somebody. Girls who look down on others. On people like me, on foreigners. Snooty, isn’t that what you call those girls?”
I don’t look down
