Chapter 13
Eddie
I don’t know how much longer I can control myself. The pegs around my nipples are one thing but teasing my throbbing cock is a whole other thing. If I don’t get a grip on myself soon, I’m going to be making a big messy exhibition of myself in front of Viktor.
But maybe that’s what he wants.
And maybe that’s what I truly want too…
“Mmmmph,” I gasp, my dick hard and my mouth agape as I do my best to focus on the sketching as Viktor’s huge and rock-hard cock stands tall and proud only inches away from me. “I’m… this is… it’s getting harder to…”
But before I can finish my sentence, Viktor is directly in front of my face, his thick and veiny shaft throbbing before my eyes.
“Lick it,” Viktor commands, his voice low and serious. “Bottom to top. Slowly. Like your life depended on it.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I reply, not even for one moment thinking of saying no.
Right now I feel totally under my Daddy’s control, and I’m loving every second of it. It’s scary, sexy, and dangerous as it ever was, but I’m giving my body and mind to Viktor, and I’m determined to make him a happy Daddy…
“Good boy,” Viktor purrs, his voice still laced with a stern edge. “Now swallow it. And grab my ass cheeks while you do it.”
I don’t need to be asked twice and open my mouth wide over his thick dick head while gripping his strong, muscular buttocks at the same time. I gag a little as my mouth slides toward the base, but I won’t quit. I’m taking it all.
Viktor growls in satisfaction as I bob my head while I’m at the base of his dick, my fingers digging deep into his ass cheeks as I hold my position for as long as I can. I know I’ll need to come up for air soon, but every half-second counts…
“I have myself a cock-hungry boy,” Viktor says, pulling my head up by the ears and then bouncing his wet cock onto my face, moving and sliding it from side to side and up and down.
I’m being used and toyed with by my Russian Daddy, and I’m loving it.
This is all Viktor, and I’m his willing subject, here to do his bidding and give him satisfaction. The fact that my own cock is all hard and throbbing is merely an aside. My purpose is to give my Daddy what he needs.
“Crawl behind me,” Viktor says, turning and presenting his strong legs and ass to me. “Keep your eyes on me. Nowhere else. Move as I move. Give yourself to me entirely.”
As Viktor begins to pace around the room, I dutifully crawl behind him on all fours. I’m like his obedient pet, there by his leg, ready to provide pleasure at the click of his fingers.
“Now stand, place your hands on the window,” Viktor barks, his cock in his hands as he watches me stand and present myself for him. “Stick that ass out, spread those legs. You’re going to take Daddy’s cock now. Do you understand?”
“Y-y-y-y-yes please, Master Daddy,” I say, my legs trembling as I move them apart, knowing full well that it’s going to be a very tight fit no matter how lubed I am. “I want you to make me yours. Fuck me until I can’t stand. Make me scream.”
And just like that, I feel Viktor grip me.
One hand around my neck, the other around my waist. I’m perfectly positioned as he briefly lets go and spits onto his palms, wets his Daddy dick, before he thrusts his cock inside me.
I let out a long, loud howl of pleasure and pain as he fills me.
He’s very firm, but there’s a moment of sensitivity too when Viktor leans in close to my ear.
“Good?” Viktor asks.
“Mmmm-hmmmm, good,” I reply, barely able to speak but nodding enthusiastically as I feel my Daddy pull out and then go up inside me once more, this time harder and deeper still. “M-m-m-m-more. I want more.”
“As you wish,” Viktor says, thrusting harder, his grip tightening around me as he pushes me further than I’ve ever been before.
Soon, we’re both on the floor, our bodies writhing in pleasure as Viktor commands, controls, and maneuvers me with ease. I can feel my orgasm is close, and Viktor’s too, as my Daddy climbs on top of me, hitches my legs, and begins to pound harder and harder.
I feel so powerless and vulnerable in this position, and it feels incredible to be able to look into my Daddy’s eyes as he fucks me.
“Daddy! I’m… I’m… I’m…” I holler, totally lost in the moment as I feel my entire body convulsing in pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Viktor simply holds me down with my legs above my head and pumps hard and fast, his hot seed shooting up inside me as the muscles on his back and shoulders tighten in sheer orgasmic bliss.
“Fuck. Fuck. That was… fuck,” Viktor says, still deep inside of me as my entire body and soul reverberates in the most overwhelming pleasure.
In Viktor’s orgasm, I barely noticed that I came too, my semi-hard cock now flopping to the side as my cum-covered stomach rises and falls as I attempt to get my breath back to normal.
“Same,” I say, one word the most I can muster as Viktor eventually pulls out and lies next to me on the floor, our bodies and minds totally connected. “I wish it could always be like this…”
I gasp.
No!
I shouldn’t have said that.
Crap. Have I ruined the moment?
But when I turn to look at Viktor to gauge his response, he simply smiles.
“Hey, it’s not impossible,” Viktor says. “But it won’t be easy. Nothing in this life is.”
And with that, my Daddy wraps his arm around me and pulls me right up against his body. All I can do is shut my eyes and hope this feeling lasts for as long as it possibly can…
Later, after we've cleaned up and shared a quiet moment in the bathroom, I find myself back in the art room. I’m an artist after all. A little bit of sexy fun isn’t going to totally derail my project. Far from it.
The sun has shifted higher in the sky, pouring through the large windows and turning the whitewashed walls into a canvas of light and shadow.
The space feels even more like a real studio now, with my supplies spread out across the plastic sheeting: bags of clay sealed and ready, tools gleaming in their new packaging, the banding wheel centered like a throne.
I sit on the floor, cross-legged, and pull out the sketches I made earlier during the life modeling session.
They're rough—quick lines capturing the strength in Viktor's shoulders, the tension in his stance, the way light played over his skin—but they're enough to guide me. He’s actually a perfect model too. Tall, broad, lean but muscular. Pffft. I’d better not spend too much time thinking about it or I’ll get all turned on again.
I wedge a lump of earthenware clay between my hands, the familiar rhythm grounding me as I slap and knead it on the mat.
Air bubbles pop under my palms, the cool, pliable earth yielding to pressure.
It's meditative, this process, and as I begin to build the base form, coiling ropes of clay into the rough shape of two intertwined figures.
And as I do this, my mind wanders back to where it all started…
The very first sculpture that got me recognition was an abstract jungle scene I made at community arts college.
I was nineteen, fresh out of high school chaos, scraping by on my small savings and odd jobs.
The piece was wild—twisted vines, lurking animal shapes emerging from the undergrowth, all sharp angles and hidden threats.
It wasn't pretty. It was chaotic, like my life back then.
But the instructor saw something in it—entered it in a local contest without telling me. When it won third place, complete with a small cash prize and a mention in the community paper, I felt seen for the first time. Like my hands could speak louder than my words ever could.
I've come a long way since then.
From that messy jungle to the polished hares at the gallery—pieces with intent, story, edge. But thinking about the gallery now brings a wistful ache.
My debut show…ruined before it even opened.
Bullet holes in the walls, sculptures shattered or abandoned. Milo probably thinks I'm dead or kidnapped… which, technically, I am.
Agents who were circling? Gone.
The buzz around my name? Silenced.
It might never happen now—that big break, the validation. I pause, fingers pressing into the clay a little too hard, distorting the form.
What if this is it? Trapped here, sculpting in secret, my career a what-if?
I smooth the mistake, stepping back to eye the piece. The two figures are emerging clearer: one tall and protective, the other smaller, reaching up with a mix of defiance and trust. Tension in the lines where they connect, tenderness in the curves.
When I look at it, really look, a new feeling bubbles up—not regret, but possibility.
Maybe my career isn't over… maybe it's just beginning.
Maybe now, with all this chaos swirling around me, my work can have a more dangerous edge.
Rawer. Realer. Like Viktor himself—strong, unyielding, but with hidden depths. Shadows and light intertwined. The thought excites me, my hands moving faster, shaping the clay with renewed purpose.
The door opens behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. Viktor enters, carrying a tray with my phone balanced next to a fresh glass of OJ. He sets it down on a side table, then hands me the phone. "Message your friend at the coffee shop."
I wipe my hands on a rag, taking the phone warily. "Robbie? Why?"
He settles into the chair across the room, watching me steadily. "Tomorrow morning, we're hitting the city. And I think Robbie might be able to help us."
My stomach twists. "Help? With what? I don't want to drag him into... whatever this is. It's dangerous."
Viktor leans forward, elbows on his knees. "He needs to trust me. No. You need to trust me. All will be revealed. But message him now. Tell him you're okay, that you'll explain soon."
I'm nervous, my heart pounding at the thought of involving Robbie. He’s my best friend, my safe space in the city. What if this pulls him into the gunfire, the shadows? But Viktor's gaze is unwavering, that leader's certainty radiating from him.
Part of me wants to argue, but another part—the part that's starting to see him as more than a captor—whispers to trust him. I unlock the phone, fingers hovering over the keys.
Eddie: Hey Robbie, I'm okay. Weird stuff happened, but I’m safe. Can we meet tomorrow? Need to talk. Xoxo.
I show him the screen. He nods. I hit send.
I set the phone down, my hands trembling slightly…
Tomorrow, the city. It’s going to be scary.
I mean, it’s not like I’m not scared here either.
But there’s something about the thought of heading back into the city that makes me feel very scared.
Terrified even. What if Viktor is taking me back as some kind of bait?
What if he wants to exchange me in return for information?
Maybe I’m being totally paranoid, but what do I know about him other than the fact that he killed a man in cold blood?
I glance back at my sculpture, the figures leaning into each other full of passion and angst, and wonder if I'm molding my own future here, or simply shaping my demise…