Sophia
It’s been two weeks and each morning begins the same way.
Soft light over the snow, the smell of coffee drifting up from the kitchen, and Yury’s quiet voice on the phone somewhere down the hall, speaking in Russian, commanding and low.
I used to listen for signs of danger in that voice.
Now I listen for its rhythm, the way it anchors the house.
We’ve found a kind of balance that feels too good to be true.
He works most of the day, always in his office, but he never forgets me. He always appears in time for lunch. Then dinner. The time after dinner is always just for us. Sharing secrets and filthy promises that our future is full of us.
I’ve started leaving the door to his office open when I pass. He never tells me to close it. Sometimes, he even looks up, catches my eye, and smiles.
I spend my days exploring. Reading in the library.
Helping Greta bake for Christmas. I learned to make varenyky last week, my dough was too thick, and she laughed until she cried.
When Yury came in and saw flour on my nose, he wiped it away with his thumb and kissed me on the forehead so casually it made my heart ache.
I’m starting to see who he is when no one’s watching, the man who fixes the broken hinge on a kitchen cabinet himself instead of calling someone. The man who remembers how I take my tea. The man who leaves his world behind every time he steps through this door.
But there’s still the shadow of the past.
Yesterday, one of his men came up the drive. I recognized him from that night at my father’s house. He handed Yury an envelope, and I saw my father’s name printed in the corner. I asked what it was.
“Your father is in a facility for addiction,” was his clipped response.
I feel hopeful that my dad might finally get the help he needs, but I know only time will tell.
Tonight, the house smells of pine and cinnamon again. The Christmas tree we brought home fills the room, heavy with ornaments and soft light. Yury’s still working, but I can hear the faint crackle of the fire and the quiet hum of a record playing, an old Russian carol, gentle and mournful.
I close the book I’m reading and head towards his office. My muscles ache from disuse, and there’s only one way to exercise in this house. I stand at the door, waiting for him to finish a call. When he turns to face me, he knows exactly what I need.
“Come here, Sophia,” he almost growls it. “I’ve had a hard day and I think you know what I need.”
I go to him, closing the door behind me and pulling off my clothes, so by the time I reach his desk I’m wearing just my underwear.
Red.
I bought it a few days ago in town, surrounded by women who giggled and winked and told me my husband is a lucky man.
He opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t form as his eyes bulge.
“Take off your clothes,” I command, and his eyes finally snap to mine. He does as I ask.
When his cock springs free I drop to my knees and take him in my mouth.
I’ve gotten a little better at this over the last couple of weeks.
Learned what he likes and how he likes it.
But I have that same desperate feeling I get when I need to be filled by him, so I take it steady, wanting his full load.
When he begins to gasp, I let the swollen head of his penis pop from my mouth, and stand.
“You know how to make me beg, Sophia. Is that what you want?” His eyes are dark and his hands are on me, feeling the soft lace under the palm of his hands like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.
“No, Yury. I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”
I lean back on his desk, lifting my knees until the heels of my feet are perched on the polished wood and brace myself with my hands behind me.
The panties are open at the crotch.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out long, angelu. Not with you perfectly gift wrapped and presented to me like this.” I can tell he is in the same heady state I am. Where primal need overtakes any rational thought.
Good. That’s how I want him.
“Is it still in place?” he asks about the toy he slid inside my ass earlier.
I nod, “Yes, Yury, all day, just like you told me.”
His cock jolts and pre-cum drips from the tip. “Perfect, this is going to feel so good for you. You’ll feel so full and stretched and fucked deep…”
He lines the large head of his cock up with my entrance and pushes in. I look down and see his length framed by my pussy lips and lace, and combined with the sensation of being filled doubly, I come instantly.
“That’s it, angelu, take everything you need. You look so good wrapped around me,” he grunts.
He holds onto my thighs for leverage, and begins relentlessly fucking me.