7. Mackenzie
Chapter 7
Mackenzie
I wrap my fingers around the bars and stare out at Kirill.
Pale-Eyes jerks his gun at him. “Get in the cage.”
Kirill shakes his head. “This is insane.”
“You heard him,” the other one says.
The men have forgone the masks now that I’ve seen Grigoriy’s face. There’s no point in keeping up the fa?ade any longer.
“Fuck off, Rufus,” Kirill snarls.
The one I now know to be called Rufus points at the cage. “In. Now. You really have no choice.”
“Kirill,” I sob, unsure of what I even want to say.
He stares at me, his blue eyes haunted in a way I’ve never seen before. Perhaps realizing he has no choice, his shoulders slump and he goes to the gate. It’s not locked—what would be the point when I’m attached to the bars now?—and he steps inside.
With a whoop of glee, Pale-Eyes steps forward, slams the cage gate shut, and clicks the lock into place. Kirill is trapped.
Just like me.
Grigoriy won’t leave his son in here, will he?
“ Kukla ,” Kirill says quietly, stepping closer.
I break down, my head hung, tears streaming down my cheeks. I’m exposed and humiliated, and I’m terrified about what’s going to happen. It must be approaching twenty-four hours since I last took my medication, and the thought of having a seizure in here is unbearable. What will Grigoriy think when he realizes I’m not the perfect little breeder he wants? There have been moments I’ve almost told him, but what would happen if I did? Would that make me useless, in his eyes, at least? I bet he’s an ableist piece of shit because he’s a disgusting human being. He’s not going to be understanding. He comes across like a full-on, fascist fuckhead. If I had no use, would he decide to put a bullet in my head?
Kirill drops to his knees beside me and wraps his arms around me, using his body to shield me from the heated gazes of the two other men. He scoops me into him, as best he can with me in my current position, and buries his head to my shoulder.
He’s trembling.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Mackenzie. I am so fucking sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, but do I truly believe that? I can’t claim that everything bad that’s happened to me recently has been down to him and the others, but they’ve certainly played their part.
His hands go to the collar around my throat, and he tugs on the latch and the lock, but I know there’s no way to undo it.
“Get on with this,” Rufus says from outside of the cage. “We are looking forward to the show.”
He ribs the man standing beside him—the one with the pale eyes—and they both laugh.
“She gave me a taste of those tits before,” Pale-Eyes says. “I would like to fuck her too, but Mr. Stepanov will not allow it.”
Rufus grabs his crotch. “I bet he will if his precious son fails. If you can’t get it up, Kirill, we’ll take over. We could take turns. Fill her up. Fuck her until she bleeds.”
Kirill snaps to face them. “Shut the fuck up, both of you.”
They howl with laughter. They’re having a great time. Fucking pricks.
"At least unlock the collar,” Kirill says. “I can’t do it like this.”
Pale-Eyes shakes his head. “Not happening. While she’s locked to the cage, you’re not going anywhere. The moment that lock comes undone, you’ll try to take her out of here.”
He’s completely right.
“Besides,” the other one sneers, “it’s hotter with her half naked and chained like that. Women should be on their knees. Best place for them.”
Kirill mutters something in Russian, which I take to be a curse.
Did he come armed? My thought of a gun makes me remember what Kirill had said about killing me. If he’d come armed, had a part of him believed he might use the weapon on me? What if he’d arrived to find his father raping me? Would he have put a bullet in my head before shooting his father? Would I have been that ruined for him? The thought makes me cry all over again.
“You said you were going to kill me,” I say under my breath. “I heard you.”
He shakes his head. “No, Duchess. You know I’d never hurt you. I only said it to make sure he didn’t touch you.”
I sniff and hiccup. “How do I know that?”
He takes hold of my chin. “Look at me. Look into my eyes. You know me. I love you. I’d kill myself before I harmed a single hair on your head. I should have protected you better. I should have seen this coming. I knew he was a fucking psychopath. I should have known he wouldn’t just take me telling him no as an answer. This is on me. I’m so sorry, Duchess. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He loves me.
Pale-Eyes cracks the gun against the side of the cage, and we both jump at the clang.
“Stop fucking talking. We want action.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
“Fuck you,” Kirill snaps. “I won’t do it. Not with you two watching.”
“You have no choice. Your father said so. We will watch. Make sure the job gets done.”
Rufus sneers. “She will spread her legs for us when you are finished—show us the cum dripping from her cunt.”
Kirill pulls me close. “Stay away from her, or I’ll kill you myself. I fucking swear it.”
They exchange a glance and laugh. They know his words are empty. What can he do? He’s locked inside this fucking cage, too. Kirill is as helpless as I am.
We have no choice but to give them what they want.
“Just do it, Kirill,” I say softly.
He jerks back. “What? No, not until they leave.”
“It’s only us. It’s only sex. We’ve done it countless times before. Nothing has changed. We’re still ourselves.”
“We have an audience,” he hisses.
The grinding of his teeth goes right down to my bones.
“Just imagine they’re Dom and Tino. It’s no different, not really.”
We both know it is, but if this is going to happen, we need to lie to ourselves.
Pale-Eyes has grown bored. He marches over to us and puts the gun to my head, the metal circle of the barrel jamming against my scalp. I take a sharp breath and close my eyes.
“Get that away from her,” Kirill growls. “ Now .”
“Then fuck her, or should we get your father back down here? Let him take over?”
“It’s okay, Kirill,” I tell him. “I want you. I always want you.” I can’t let these men touch me, and I’ll die before I let Kirill’s father come near me with that thing between his legs. I can do this. It’s not as if I don’t always want Kirill.
I do.
The pressure of the barrel against my skull eases and then vanishes.
Kirill gives a throaty groan of desperation. “Not like this. I…fuck…I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I encourage him. “Please. I need you.”
“Fuck, Kukla .”
Kirill must realize I’m right, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder. He’s the one freaking out here, and I thought it would be me. He needs my strength now. He came for me, and I can’t let that be for nothing. I want out of here, and the only way is to give his crazy father what he wants. I am convinced that Grigoriy Stepanov is insane enough to actually let us go if he thinks we’re going to keep trying to make a baby and that we’re married. I even find the strength to make a joke of it in an attempt to break through to Kirill.
“You made me come in front of the entire canteen. Don’t go shy on me now.”
He barks out a soft, surprised laugh, but it turns into something that sounds almost like a half-sob.
“Let’s show these fuckers what real connection looks like,” I say.
He’ll have to take me in this position, with me on my knees. It means I’ll be facing these two bastards, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’ll close my eyes and pretend they’re not there. Or picture them as Dom and Tino.
The thought creates a tingle between my thighs, and I find myself wet. Perhaps the sick things we’ve done in the past have primed me for this.
Yes, Dom and Tino watching Kirill fuck me—on my knees, my face and breasts pressed to the bars. That, I can work with.
I reach for him, take his hand, and draw it around my body to cup my bare breast. My nipple crinkles under his touch. I won’t tell him how his father’s mouth was on me, how his disgusting tongue laved me, how he exposed his huge cock to me. It won’t help.
“Come here. Come closer. I missed you. I need you.”
He shakes his head against me. “You don’t understand. I can’t do this. Not with them watching. Not with you like this.”
“Just pretend it’s your bed, and you’ve chained me to it. I know you like that. Remember the last time? I was in a similar position, wasn’t I? When you used the hairbrush on me.”
He’s close enough that I feel his cock jump.
“Mackenzie,” he groans, “don’t.”
I reach behind me and cup his dick over the top of his jeans and give him a squeeze. He grows harder.
“I’m wet for you. Feel me.”
I move his hand from my breast, down across my stomach, and beneath the waistband of my sweatpants. He pushes his hand between my thighs and slides a finger along my slit, finding me wet and wanting.
He lets out a primal sound deep in his throat and curls his finger to push inside me. I gasp. Acting from a place of need and desperation, his other hand cups my breast, his fingers tweaking and rolling my nipple. He presses against me, on his knees as well, so the front of his body melds with the back of mine. I sense his urgency, how, in a matter of seconds, he’s switched from refusal to need.
I’ve read about how when you’re in a dangerous situation, sometimes adrenaline and other hormones can make you horny. Hell, look at all the baby booms in times of war. Maybe this is that effect, or perhaps we’re just so primed for one another, we can’t resist no matter what else is going on.
Either way, the fact that Kirill’s body and desire have overridden his reticence and his morals is strangely hot.
“That’s right,” Pale-Eyes says, “now it’s getting good.”
The rasp of a zipper greets my ears, and I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see these two men masturbating over us.
Kirill continues to thrust his fingers in and out of me as he kisses and bites my neck and shoulder. He grinds against my spine, showing me how hard he is.
“I want your cock,” I tell him. “I want to feel you. I want your cum inside me. I don’t give a fuck if these freaks are watching. I’ve been so alone and cold. I need to feel you.”
It’s actually a comfort having Kirill here with me. It’s wrong I’m grateful for him being dragged into this hellhole, too, and being placed in danger now as well, but I am grateful. I’m less afraid with him here.
Kirill pulls down my sweatpants, and I push them off my feet. He doesn’t remove my panties but yanks them to one side. It means I’m not completely naked, but as good as.
I twist my head as much as I can, and watch from the corner of my eye as he undoes his jeans and yanks them, together with his shorts, down his hips. His cock juts out from his body, thick and erect. His length is ridged with veins, the head smooth and darker in shade.
“That’s right, fuck her,” Rufus encourages. “I want to hear her come.”
I reach behind me to stroke Kirill. “Ignore them,” I tell him. “It’s just us. Only us.”
The position is awkward, with my face still pressed to the bars, but I do my best. He’s rock hard now, and his breathing is harsh in my ear. Beneath that, I hear the whack of flesh on flesh, the beating of hands on cocks. I do my best to push them out of my mind.
“Fuck,” Rufus groans. “I want a taste of that pussy so bad.”
Pale-Eyes directs his question to Kirill. “Tell us how it feels to be inside her. Describe her. Is she tight and wet?”
Kirill ignores him and slips his fingers from my pussy. He replaces them with his cock, positioning himself at my opening from behind. He rubs himself in my wetness, groaning a little, then he dips inside me, just the tip, stretching me.
I push back on him. “Give it to me. I want you.”
With a growl, he grabs my hips and then rams himself deep, shoving me against the bars.
He slams into me, hard and fast, as if he’s wanting and needing this to be over. I am too, but also, I don’t want it to end, as it is a respite from the terror. While I’m feeling Kirill in me, and the sharp, painful pleasure he is giving me, everything else fades.
The danger, the fucked-up-ness of this situation, all serve to heighten the arousal I’m feeling.
“Oh, God,” I cry. “Oh, fuck.”
One of his hands is between my thighs, his fingers working my clit. The other is on my breast, using it to hold me to him, so we’re like one entity, unable to tell where one of us finishes and the other starts.
Heat and tension build, and the air is filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing. It’s cold down here, but now our skin is damp with sweat. The way we’re fucking is so raw, animalistic. Dirty, filthy rutting. I don’t care. Despite everything, I find myself craving this connection. Being with him—and Dom and Tino, too—is when I feel the most alive. Maybe I’m addicted to them, or perhaps it’s more than that, but I’ll always want them.
Even in this fucked up situation.
I didn’t believe I’d reach climax, not like this, with two strangers watching, taking their own pleasure in the palms of their hands, but I can’t fight the unmistakable rise of it inside me. My thighs and stomach muscles are taut, and I gasp and moan.
“Kirill…oh, God, Kirill.”
Kirill keeps his face buried in my neck, as though he’s hiding from the reality of what’s happening and is losing himself in me instead. I look up, though, and can’t help but stare at the two massive cocks, angry, hard, and the faces of the men twisted in pained desire. It’s sick, and yet, I feel a kind of power. They want to be me and Kirill. They want what we have, but they never will get it.
“I’m going to come,” I gasp. “Oh, fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Jesus, Duchess.”
“Don’t stop. Oh, shit. Like that, yes, just like that.” I stare at Rufus and my gaze is defiant as the pleasure builds. The man looks away, glancing down at the floor, his fist slowing for a moment.
Yes, you fucker , I think. This is what you can’t deal with. Me being in control and taking what I want. They want a scared victim, and instead, I’m going to enjoy this moment.
Kirill angles himself perfectly, hitting the place inside me that tumbles me over the edge. For a few seconds, I forget men are watching, I forget we are captives, and give in completely to the utter bliss that courses through me. My pussy clenches around Kirill’s cock, milking him for his cum. My fingers grip the bars as I hold on tight, needing the anchor against the intensity of the orgasm.
“Fuck, Kukla . I’m going to fill you up.”
“Yes, yes,” I gasp. “I want you.”
He gives in with a groan, and I feel him pulse inside me, our heated wetness combining.
We slump together, both of us panting hard. My heart is racing.
Rufus steps forward, bringing himself right up to the bars.
His upper lip lifts in a curl of satisfaction, and he gives a grunt as he comes, hot seed spurting from his slit, and raining down on me and Kirill. The salty scent of semen fills my nostrils. Rufus’s gaze holds mine now, triumphant as he thinks he’s once more gained the upper hand, so I don’t even let myself flinch.
But Kirill lets out a yell of dismay, and his hold on me tightens in anger. I put a soothing hand behind me. He can’t get us killed. Not now. Not when we might actually get out of here if his dad is satisfied by this depraved spectacle.
“You son of a bitch,” he growls. “You will pay for that.”
Rufus only laughs.
Pale-Eyes steps forward. He hasn’t come yet, his hugely erect cock still fisting in his hand. “Now spread those legs,” he says. “The boss will want to know the job was done properly, and that wasn’t all just an act.”
Kirill tenses around me. “You think that was an act?”
“Pull your cock from her cunt and keep her panties to one side. I want to see the cum dripping out of her.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re fucked in the head.”
“I’m just doing my job. Do it, and we’ll leave and give you a good report to the boss.”
“Do it,” I murmur to Kirill.
Kirill edges away from me slightly and he slips from my body. Pale-Eyes works his cock faster, breath growing rapid. “Part your legs more,” he rasps.
Not looking at him, I move my knees apart. Wetness trickles between my thighs.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, his movements becoming even faster, his gaze locked on my pussy. He curses in Russian and then comes, his hips bucking into his hand.
I turn my face away, disgusted, but I feel his cum hitting my hair and dripping down my cheek.
Kirill sits back on his heels, his head hung. I know he feels how I do now that the high has worn off—exposed, used, depraved. Neither of us looks at each other.
“We will tell your father you did what was required,” the other man says. “And we will look forward to the next time.” They’ve put their cocks away and are zipping themselves up as they gloat.
Both men turn and traipse back up the stairs.
His words echo in my ears… next time.
I actually find myself hoping that Grigoriy finds a priest because if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m scared I’m going to get sick. Being married to Kirill isn’t the worst thing ever. I’ve learned there are much worse things out there. If that’s what it takes for us to escape, I’ll gladly do it. I just want to be free of this dungeon. My hair and face are sticky, and I try to wipe at myself, but I can’t get it off me. I am about to ask Kirill to use his t-shirt to help clean me up when the light clicks out.
Velvety thick darkness covers us, so dense it feels like it’s pressing down on me, and Kirill lets out a soft moan.
The sound is strange, almost childlike.
What is wrong with him?
I reach for him in the dark and find him balled up. I try to pull him to me, but he’s shaking like a leaf in the breeze.
Tears fill my eyes and spill over in the dark as I pray to God for a miracle.