Chapter 11
Dubai, two weeks ago…
Katya
He had the biggest dick I’d ever seen.
I thought of Viktor inside of me, and he was large, but this? Mikhail was built in a way that made me nervous. He was big in a way that made my throat tighten and my inner muscles clench in a strange mix of fear and an undeniably treacherous thrill.
“It’s time,” he growled, “to show you what that sassy mouth of yours is for.”
A flicker of defiance sparked in me, the last vestiges of my pride trying to rally, and I let it spring to life.
“I—” I started to protest.
He didn’t wait for me to finish. He didn’t give me the chance.
With a deep rumbling groan, he pushed forward, the head of his cock breaching my lips, sliding over my tongue, and pressing against the back of my throat.
I gagged instinctively, a violent, convulsive spasm that tried to expel the massive foreign object shoved inside my mouth.
He didn’t pull back. He didn’t let me breathe.
He just held himself there, a heavy, unyielding presence in my mouth, his hand coming up to frame my face, his thumb stroking my cheek in a gesture that was both strangely gentle and utterly possessive.
“Easy, malyshka,” he murmured. “Breathe through your nose. You can take it.”
My eyes watered, tears stinging the corners. My hands, which had been clutching the sheets, flew up and slapped against his waist in a desperate, panicked attempt to push him away, but he was an immovable wall of muscle, making my resistance pathetically futile.
“You can,” he insisted. “And you will.”
He pulled back just enough to let me draw a frantic, desperate breath through my nose.
Then he pushed himself back in, forcing me to accommodate his impossible size, to stretch my jaw and to relax my throat.
Out, in, out, in, then all the way down, slowly, until my nose was pressed against his pelvic bone and his entire enormous cock was down my throat.
Oh. My. God.
The taste of him was overwhelming, a musky, masculine flavor that was both intimidating and intoxicating.
I was a whirlwind of conflicting sensations.
The gag reflex. The lack of air. The humiliation.
And beneath it all, the strange, dark thrill of being used like this that was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
After holding himself as deep as he could go, he started to move again.
He pulled out until just the tip was resting on my lips, then slid back in.
All the way. Not hard, not fast, but with a slow, deep, thoroughness that was meant to conquer me.
He was slow-fucking my mouth, establishing his dominance, claiming this part of me as surely as he would claim the rest.
I stopped fighting.
I couldn’t win.
My hands fell to his hips, my fingers clenching and unclenching around his bones.
I let my body go limp in a surrender that was total and terrifying.
He must have felt the shift in me, the change in my resistance because he reached out to stroke my hair, an almost tender gesture that was more shamefully arousing than any rough treatment could have been.
“Good girl,” he crooned. I wish I could have denied to myself the spasm those words elicited from my needy pussy.
He picked up the pace, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming a little faster, a little deeper.
His hands held my head in place, his fingers tangling in my hair, controlling my movements and ensuring I took every inch of him.
The sounds we were making were obscene, from the wet, rhythmic glide of his cock in my mouth to the soft, desperate whimpers I couldn’t suppress.
My jaw ached and my throat was starting to feel a little raw, but the fire between my legs was slowly becoming a raging inferno.
Then he started to fuck my face.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back at an angle that gave him better access.
There was nothing slow about it now. His hips pumped, a brutal, relentless rhythm that drove his cock deep into my throat with every thrust. My eyes watered uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the saliva that dribbled from the corners of my mouth.
He was using me.
He was treating me like a toy.
And I was loving every second of it.
My hands were no longer pushing him away. They were gripping his waist, my fingers digging into the hard muscle, holding on for dear life.
“Look at me,” he growled.
I forced my tear-filled eyes to focus on his face.
His expression was one of intense concentration, his jaw tight as a muscle feathered in his cheek.
His eyes were dark, burning with a possessive fire that made my stomach clench.
He was watching me, watching my lips stretch around him, watching the tears stream down my face, and the sight of it was clearly pushing him closer to the edge.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured. “With my cock in your pretty mouth.”
A fresh wave of heat washed over me.
“You’re going to swallow what I give you, malyshka,” he commanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, more erratic. “Every last drop.”
I didn’t have a choice. He drove himself deep into my throat one last time, and then he was coming.
Hot, thick jets of cum flooded my mouth, so much of it that I couldn’t possibly swallow it all.
The taste was salty, musky, intimately male, and all Mikhail.
I swallowed convulsively, my throat working frantically, but there was too much.
It dribbled from the corners of my lips, leaving a hot, sticky trail that ran down my chin, and my face flushed with heat.
He pulled back, but he wasn’t finished. With a rumbling groan, he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and stroked, milking the last of his release from his body.
And it wasn’t just a little bit either, but a lot.
It was as though he had been pent up, a fact that was made painfully clear as several more spurts of his cum landed on my cheeks, my nose, and my forehead.
“Mikhail.” I blushed and squirmed.
He looked down at me, his chest heaving and dark, possessive satisfaction in his eyes. He looked at my face, at the sticky, glistening mess he had made, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.
“My brother might have made you swallow it all,” he murmured, “but sassy girls like you need to be decorated with my pleasure.”
A surge of shameful arousal shot through me.
“At least,” I managed, my throat raw, “he had the decency to aim for my mouth.”
“I should make you wear my cum all night,” he answered.
That was it.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t wear designer labels.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
His smile widened and he chuckled. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t get offended. Instead, he just looked… delighted.
“Oh, malyshka,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark promise. “You’re going to regret that.”
Before I could react, before I could even process the shift in his expression, he moved, shifting his body off mine as though he was dismounting from a saddle.
He didn’t waste a second. He didn’t give me a chance to retreat.
With a rough, impatient tug, he flipped me over as easily as if I weighed nothing.
My world spun, my face suddenly buried in the soft, clean-smelling pillows of the bed, smearing his release all over my face.
My hips were yanked up, and then suddenly, my ass was presented to him like a prize.
My stomach clenched with a mixture of fear and a decidedly naughty thrill.
“I was going to be nice,” he said, kneeling beside me as his hand coming down to rest on the curve of my bottom. The touch was light, almost gentle, but it was the calm before the storm. “I was going to take my time with you. To make you beg for it…”
His other hand came down on my right cheek with a loud, stinging slap. The sound was a whip-crack that echoed in the room, a stark, shocking counterpoint to the quiet intimacy of the previous moment. A cry was torn from my throat before I could stop it.
A white-hot flare of pain radiated through me and my entire body jerked in shock and pain.
“Ah!” I gasped.
“But you,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just set my ass on fire, “are a brat. And brats,” he punctuated the word with another hard slap, this one on the other cheek, “get their little asses spanked until they are bright red and hot.”
Another quick, stinging slap. And another.
He wasn’t holding back. Not even in the slightest.
Now he was spanking me with a relentless, brutal rhythm, the sounds loud, an obscene percussion that echoed throughout the room and I’m sure down the hall.
Each spank burned with a deep fiery sting, and I couldn’t help but gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure that shot straight to my clit.
In no time at all, my ass was ablaze, a throbbing, scalded inferno that made my eyes water.
“You’re enjoying this,” he observed, his tone amused.
“No,” I lied.
“You’re getting a spanking, naughty malyshka,” he purred. “And you’re so wet you’re soaking the sheets.”
He paused, and I felt the heat of his gaze.
His fingers delved between my legs, not to enter me, but to confirm exactly what he said.
His thick digits slid through my slick folds in a wickedly thorough exploration that made my breath hitch in my throat.
He found my clit, already swollen and sensitive, and circled it once with a light, teasing touch that sent a surge of pure electricity straight to my core.
He leaned over and brought his glistening fingers up to my face, pressing them against my lips. “Taste,” he commanded.
I opened my mouth, the scent of my own arousal a potent, dizzying aphrodisiac. Hesitantly, I tasted myself on his fingers, a flavor that was intimately familiar. My clit throbbed with an ache so intense that I nearly cried out.
“You see?” he taunted. “You want this. You need this.”